


Reframing

by Cytokiine



Category: Transformers Animated (2007), Transformers: Prime
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon Hardlining, M/M, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Siphoning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cytokiine/pseuds/Cytokiine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Injured in battle, isolated from his teammates, and cornered by a member of the enemy faction, First Aid anticipates his own impending offline.</p>
<p>Instead, he is granted his life... and a newfound obsession with the Decepticon named Soundwave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AptGoodTouch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AptGoodTouch/gifts).



_It’s no big deal._

_This is no big deal._

_This is fine._

 

...It wasn’t. It wasn’t fine by any stretch of his processor. First Aid stared at the rocks trapping his legs and the shrapnel lodged up and down the left side of his body, his audials still ringing from the explosion that had sent them ripping through his armor. He felt disembodied, detached from the damage he was observing, even as his sensors began to flash a hundred different warnings behind his eyes.

None of them registered with him.

His optics settled on the particularly vicious shard of metal impaling his leg at the juncture between his hip and thigh. He reached for it, servos trembling as they closed around the metal and gave an experimental tug. It refused to yield, but the effort sent a ripple of pain through him that had him gasping and collapsing back against the canyon wall he’d been thrown into. First Aid shuttered his optics as he retreated into himself, riding out the wave.

Primus did it _hurt_ , but the agony grounded him somewhat. Which was just as well, because he was the only medic in the field. He couldn’t afford to succumb to the numbing distance of shock. First things first, assess the damage. Treat the damage. Find a way to rejoin his teammates, or more likely, retreat.

Where were his teammates? What had become of them? First Aid opened his optics, trying to focus them. The world still spun, too hazy for him to concentrate, but the scenery around him was unfamiliar. He tried to parse a reason for this from the overloaded wreck of his processor while urgent warnings clustered and called for his attention.

He’d been close to the blast site. The closest of all his teammates. First Aid grimaced as the pieces slowly came together. He was surrounded by rubble. Trapped by it. It was likely the blast had collapsed part of the canyon around him, reshaping the geography and hiding him from view. Pushing his blown out audials to their maximum sensitivity, First Aid picked up the faint sounds of battle. He strained to listen, trying to separate individual voices from the static bursts that peppered his hearing, but it only earned him a splitting headache. Letting his head slump forward, First Aid shut off his external auditory sensors and tried to concentrate on his own injuries again.

The list flashed across his vision, red and strident now.

_Femoral cable punctured. Secondary fuel lines severed mid torso. Concussed processor. Various sensors in the left leg wiring offline. Systems going into shock. Critical energon loss imminent._

First Aid swore softly.

_I am so fragged._

His fans whirred rapidly, and his injuries were a pulsing mass of heat and pain, but he could feel a creeping chill beginning in his extremities. Well, the extremities he could still sense. His hip burned where the metal shard still impaled it. The slightest twist of his torso sent jolts through the wiring that pulled involuntary moans from his lips. But below the spike, his leg felt dead. There was no way to auto-repair that kind of injury in the field. First Aid quelled the edge of panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

He would treat the injuries he could. He would stem the energon loss. He would have faith in his teammates to find him and retrieve him from the field. He would survive this. With a shuddering exhale, First Aid steeled himself to begin operating.

 

A shadow fell across his field of view.

First Aid’s head jerked up, optics fixing on the tall, lithe Decepticon who stood not twenty paces from him. Visceral fear surged through his lines, sending his spark stuttering with trepidation. First Aid tried to scramble backwards, but his shoulders only slammed against the stone wall behind him, and the screech of metal scraping against rock echoed the internal scream of his systems protesting the sudden movement.

The other mech did not move, just tilted their head and watched his struggle with a curiously blank face. No. A screen, First Aid realized. They had no face. This was no drone, no Vehicon. This was one of Megatron’s own. Tears sprang to his eyes, painting his cheeks wet beneath his visor and faceplate as the futility of his escape settled like a suffocating weight in his chassis.

And then they moved.

First Aid jolted again, helm banging against stone, everything in him shrieking alarm. He might have made a sound. He didn’t know. His audials were still shut off. But _oh_ , the Decepticon moved with such lethal grace. His tread was delicate and measured, and in nanokliks, he was right there, looming over the rubble of what First Aid was increasingly certain would be his grave. He flinched as the mech reached for him, slender fingers like daggers in his vision…

They brushed his face, trailing lightly down his helm and faceplate. First Aid whimpered, spark stuttering in his chest again. This strange gentleness was the absolute last thing he’d expected. Another rush of tears flooded his optics. Was this to be a game? Something crueler, more protracted than a quick offline? The Decepticon’s movements hinted at deadly efficiency, but their intentions were impossible to read. Oh, but what other intention could they have? First Aid was an Autobot medic, and mercy towards the enemy faction was not in a Decepticon’s wiring. This much, he knew.

He switched his audials back on. The feedback wasn’t quite as warped, though his sensors still hummed and spat static. His voice sounded tinny as he spoke.

“Please. Please just make it quick.”

The Decepticon did not answer, just lowered their face closer so that First Aid could see himself reflected in the broad glass pane. The Decepticon’s fingers still caressed his face, so terribly, deceitfully tender. First Aid’s fans spun faster, a whine pitching from his engines as his internal cables coiled around themselves in apprehension. He felt another hand brush down his chassis, fingers skipping over the bits of shrapnel embedded there. A sudden twinge as a fragment was plucked from his plating, followed by a small gush of energon. The other mech tilted their head again, attention caught by this new trickle of blue. And there was so much blue… puddling between his thighs, running in rivulets from rends in his metal, smearing under the Decepticon’s touch.

He felt a little lightheaded.

“Please…”

The word buzzed on his tongue, a softer entreaty this time. He reached for the hand on his face, peeling the elongated digits away with his own, smaller fingers. He still half expected them to plunge into the lines in his throat, or perhaps through his chest to snuff his spark, but they came away easily in his grip and remained there a few solid beats before the Decepticon withdrew them. They promptly fanned across his ruined leg, spidery but still gentle as they dipped into ruptured seams. First Aid couldn’t feel their progress, but he bit his lip in consternation as the other mech proceeded to remove shard after shard of metal from his frame. It was only when he saw the telltale spark of charge on their fingertips that he realized what they were doing, and the revelation floored him.

They were treating him. Cauterizing the narrower energon lines one by one to stem his fluid loss. First Aid’s processor stalled as he struggled to make sense of this turn of events. There was no logic to it. He might as well be dreaming. If he weren’t already bleeding out, he’d consider pinching himself. As if sensing his bewilderment, the Decepticon made a very faint sound of amusement, but did not stop their work. They continued, meticulously extracting shrapnel and sealing the wounds left behind.

It galvanized First Aid to action. Here he was, a genuine medibot, and he was acting as helpless as a newly forged sparkling. Chastising himself for his lack of initiative, First Aid swapped out his right hand for a welding torch and began tending to the larger gashes.

The familiar routine soothed his frayed nerves. Though he wasn’t used to working on himself, it was easy to lose himself in the process. The smell of hot metal quickly rose to greet him. First Aid let himself focus on the golden, feathery spray of sparks that followed each weld. They weren’t quite as clean as usual- he couldn’t keep his servos as steady as he did in the medbay --but they would suffice.

A tapping against his hip brought him back from his meditative state. First Aid glanced up, startled to find the Decepticon’s face close to his again. They tapped his hip again, then rasped a questioning finger against the spike still jammed through it.

Yes… that needed to come out. Energon bubbled around it, draining steadily from the wound. But he’d avoided removing it until now, knowing the moment it came loose, his severed femoral cable would pump energon out of his body at an alarming rate. He wasn’t sure he had the capacity to work as quickly and surely as the procedure required. If he had another medical mech with him, he’d feel more confident about tackling it. But there was no one else. It was only himself.

Well, himself and his strange Decepticon shadow, who was currently waiting patiently for… what? His permission? First Aid looked down at the shard. At the Decepticon’s fingers, now resting at its base, soaked blue and slick with First Aid’s fluids. It was surreal. Everything felt so surreal. He felt himself begin to detach again, to waver as his systems numbed.

First Aid blinked hard and reached for the metal jutting from his hip. A sharp twist, and agony flared through his body again. A cry fell from his lips, but he hung on, followed that line of fire to his core and resisted the frost hazing his thoughts. He would finish this.

At that moment, the Decepticon moved. Their fingers curled around the shard, pulling it swiftly and effortlessly from his body. First Aid cried out again, hunching forward as his vision peppered black. He acted more on instinct than reason as he separated the plating above his bleeding line and pinched the cut closed. Blades sprung from the tips of his other hand, quickly slicing into the mesh of his leg and cutting a shallow, superficial swath free. He transferred it to the open cable and began to wrap it around, but his fingers were slippery with energon, and he fumbled. A frustrated moan escaped him as another gush of blue fountained over his hands.

Slender fingers slid into his paneling, pinching the line shut again. First Aid vented wearily, but no longer found himself particularly alarmed by the other mech’s interventions. Grabbing the mesh more firmly, he wrapped it again, this time tying it off successfully. He swapped back for the welding torch, adjusting the flame to its most delicate setting as he carefully melded the mesh patch to the cable. He waited to see if it would hold, bleary optics searching for a new energon drip or the bulge of an impending rupture, but the patch job was solid. First Aid slumped, switching his mods back in for his regular hands. The paneling on his hip and thigh was still open, but he couldn’t bring himself to close it again, or to staunch the mild bleeding that still remained. He was so tired… His whole body hurt, and he just wanted to curl up and recharge for a decacycle.

The Decepticon was doing something else. First Aid’s optics had begun to shutter again, but he forced them open and squinted up at the other mech through his visor. What he saw didn’t immediately make sense. The Decepticon’s fingers were sliding into their own chest paneling, searching. For what, First Aid did not have the energy to contemplate. Then the Decepticon hummed, and a narrow cable emerged. They lowered it to First Aid’s chassis.

“Please?”

His own voice, parroted back to him, but pitched differently. Like a question.

First Aid stared. Then, wordlessly, he opened the fuel port on his chassis.

_This is all wrong_ , he thought as the Decepticon hooked in and began transfusing energon. First Aid shuddered and sighed as heat flooded his lines, swirling with his own, cooler fluids. His body temperature had dropped a few degrees from the energon loss. The new warmth blossoming in his chest was a comfort, but it made the rest of him feel colder in contrast. He rubbed his palms over the tops of his thighs absentmindedly, willing the influx of fuel to circulate through his limbs faster.

The Decepticon hovered close by, close enough for First Aid to feel the warmth radiating from their plates. Their spidery hands were occupied with a new task as they methodically cleared the rubble still piled on his legs. First Aid watched them work with dull interest, no longer feeling the same sense of alarm he had earlier. If they’d wanted to offline him, or even harm him, they would have done it by now. But just the opposite seemed true.

_Why?_

Very little made sense. The cable hooked into his chest, the Decepticon on the other end of it. But his processor was in no state to generate an answer. His optics wavered, and First Aid closed them. Exhaustion lured him away from murk of consciousness.

Hands slipped under his knees and lower back, lifting him. A moment later, he found himself settled in the Decepticon’s lap, boxed in place by the mech’s arms. First Aid pushed against them weakly, unnerved and confused by this sudden change of milieu. The Decepticon held fast, ignoring his feeble protests. One of their hands drifted up to stroke his helm and face again. It traced soothing, repetitive patterns. Giving up, First Aid settled against them and let them do as they pleased. He could hear the whir of the other mech’s systems, feel the faintest whisper of a spark beat pulsing under their armor. When the mech flared their plates, sending a wave of heat rolling across First Aid’s frame, First Aid curled a little closer. All the while, the cable in his chest continued to transfuse energon to him.

He’d almost drifted offline when he felt the Decepticon finally disengage. Uncoupling the cable, they shifted him from their lap back onto the ground. First Aid blinked up at them as they rose, silent and graceful. The Decepticon watched him for a few kliks longer, then, inclining their head, they turned and walked away. Thirty paces out, they crouched, sprang into the air, and shifted. First Aid felt the blast of their engines as the jet zoomed away, nose tilted in a steep vertical ascent. Then they were over the canyon wall and beyond his vision.

In their absence, First Aid felt a profound chill. He wrapped his arms around himself to recapture some semblance of the peace he’d managed to find. But it dissipated despite his best efforts, leaving him battered and strangely brittle.

He was still online when his teammates found him. Weary, but unable to quite slip away. He returned their questions indistinctly, only confirming that he was stable as they helped him to the ground bridge. And fortunately, whatever else they wanted to ask, they left it until after he’d had a chance to recharge.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I originally intended to have a larger buffer of chapters before I started posting this fic, but my impatience won out, and here we are. I'm trying this novel thing where I actually stick to an update schedule. Next chapter will go up in approximately two weeks.
> 
> Universe is primarily TFP, with Sentinel's team (and the addition of that verse's First Aid) pulled from TFA. There are various other universe and timeline alterations that will become apparent as the story progresses. I'll comment on those as they arise.


	2. Chapter 2

“What happened out there?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

First Aid crossed his arms and glanced away from Ratchet.

“Obviously I _know_ what happened, but I can’t explain it. Not in a way that makes sense.”

“Try me, kid. As it is, your medical readouts aren’t adding up.”

“Have you told Sentinel?”

Ratchet snorted.

“What do you take me for? You know how I get on with Sentinel.”

“Like oil and water, I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…”

First Aid trailed off into silence, considering how to frame his reply. This was Ratchet. He wouldn’t accept excuses. Wasn’t accepting excuses. But the truth? Well, he hardly believed it himself…

“Look, whatever happened, I won’t tell. I uphold patient confidentiality.”

“I don’t want this on record, Ratchet.”

“You have my word that it won’t be. Now will you explain to me _how_ your fluid levels weren’t lower given the extent of your injuries?”

First Aid shrugged.

“Well, logically, I had a donor.”

“Someone transfused you energon in the middle of a battle?”

“Yes.”

“A battle where you were separated from your teammates for an extended period of time?”

“Yes.”

“So the only possible candidate was-”

“A Decepticon, yes. I know how it sounds, Ratchet. I _know_.”

“You’re positive?” Ratchet asked.

First Aid leaned against the exam table and slumped.

“I was in shock. Half my sensors were damaged to some degree. But a hallucination brought on by trauma can’t explain the fact that I am not currently energon deprived. If you were to analyze the fuel in my lines, I imagine you’d find another mech’s CNA mixed in with mine. So in the absence of a better explanation, this is the best I can offer: a Decepticon found me injured, and instead of finishing me, he saved me. I don’t know why. I wish I did.”

It was Ratchet’s turn to glance away, his lips twisting in consternation. He tapped his foot as he processed the information First Aid had given him.

“You’re right,” he finally said, “It doesn’t make sense. Why a Decepticon would show mercy to an Autobot is beyond me. Who was it?”

“I don’t know. They weren’t a Vehicon, and I don’t think I’ve seen them before. Not that I’m in the field very often.”

“Describe them.”

“Tall. Spiky. Screen for a face.”

“Soundwave. You wouldn’t have seen him before. He mostly does recon for the Nemesis. Always watching, rarely interacting. Which is probably good for us. He used to be a gladiator. That’s not the kind of training a mech just forgets.”

“Soundwave…” First Aid repeated the name, weighing it on his tongue.

“To be honest, that makes your story even more unbelievable. Megatron’s most faithful subordinate, piping energon to an enemy mech? There’s no logic to it.”

He’d done more than just that. First Aid was glad for the visor and faceplate that hid his expression as his face glowed. Memories played on loop through his processor: fingers, grazing down the side of his face; the warmth of another frame cradling his. It was too personal. These weren’t details he could mention to Ratchet. They weren’t details he could mention to anyone, really. And now that he had the time to dwell on them, they were burning a hole through his subroutines.

But Soundwave? Ratchet was right. He was a figure straight out of history, notorious in his own right. First Aid wondered how he hadn’t made the connection. But it just seemed so improbable.

“Here, I can pull up a file. Confirm it for me?”

Ratchet booted up the medibay computer and motioned him over to the monitor. First Aid took one look at the mech on screen, then nodded tersely.

“Yes. That’s him.”

“Well I’ll be slagged. Ol’ Soundwave himself paid you a visit. Primus only knows why.”

“Do you mind if I read through this?”

“Knock yourself out. I’ll leave you to it. Get a little more rest before you leave the ‘bay, and don’t put too much strain on that leg. Sensors might need more time to fully recalibrate.”

“Thank you Ratchet. You really are the best.”

“Hah. It’s about time someone noticed.”

Ratchet left the medibay with a lighter step, and First Aid waited until the doors were shuttered again before turning his full attention to the file he’d pulled up. It wasn’t comprehensive. He’d have to do more digging on his own, which was difficult with Earth’s limited data field. It was such a remote planet, so far removed from intergalactic networks, but he would improvise something.

Back when Optimus Prime had led the team on Earth, their technological capabilities had been very limited. Sentinel’s arrival had brought them more than just reinforcements- his ship was outfitted with advanced Cybertronian tech. Optimus, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Arcee, and Ratchet had welcomed the additional allies and support. They’d been less keen about the change in management.

He didn’t blame them. Sentinel wasn’t the easiest mech to serve under; First Aid knew that firsthand. And to have simultaneously lost their leader to a “higher calling”- a mission to unify the scattered Autobot forces under the authority of a Prime -while learning to adapt to Sentinel’s leadership style… well, it was an ongoing source of tension. Their resentment didn’t quite extend to the crew Sentinel had brought with him, but it meant that First Aid’s relationship with most of the Earth Autobots was on the cooler end of the spectrum. Ratchet was the notable exception. He’d been thrilled to have another set of hands in the medibay. It gave him a chance to get out into the field more often, instead of having to stay behind to man the ground bridge at base.

It also filled a certain conversational niche, having another medic around to collaborate with. First Aid was equally glad for Ratchet’s presence. Jazz was kind, and the jet twins were effusive, but it was different speaking to someone who understood his work on an intimate level. Especially a doctor with as much experience and knowledge as Ratchet. They’d quickly developed a rapport that First Aid didn’t even share with his other crewmates.

It was the reason why he’d been able to tell Ratchet anything about what had happened with Soundwave, patient confidentiality or not.

Soundwave... A surprisingly enigmatic figure, given his heavy involvement with the Decepticon movement from its very inception. He read the file Ratchet had left him a second time, lingering over the images. One of them even seemed to have been captured by an Earth camera. The resolution wasn’t as clear, but it framed his face neatly. He wondered who’d taken it. Perhaps Miko. The human child had quite the collection of photos on her phone.

Yes, he’d definitely have to improvise. This wasn’t enough. First Aid’s processor whirred as he considered the technology at his disposal. There were comms systems on Sentinel’s ship that he could modify. Of course, Sentinel wouldn’t be too happy about having parts of his ship cannibalized, but he wasn’t doing much with them. They’d hidden the ship in a remote region on Earth when they’d arrived, and shifted the majority of their operations to the base Optimus’ team had set up. It would make sense to upgrade their systems here, centralize those resources. Sentinel couldn’t argue the logic, even if he would argue the principle.

It was for the greater good. That was what he would tell him. That was what he would tell himself.

First Aid closed out of the file and went to gather his tools.

 

“You did what to my ship?!”

“I said I just borrowed some parts. They’re all here. I haven’t misplaced any.”

“You’re out of line, First Aid!”

“Cool it, Sentinel. Kid’s got a point with this, cut him some slack.”

“Did I ask for your opinion, Jazz? Does no one around here have any respect for authority? Why was _I_ not consulted about the use of _my_ ship?”

“Sir? I should have asked your permission. I just got caught up in this project. I would put everything back to how it was but, well, I already made the modifications. If you’d test the new system, I think you’d find it useful...”

First Aid kept his tone mild and meek as he faced down Sentinel. His commanding officer was livid. In other words, his usual mood.

“The damage is done. I’ll be the judge of what recriminations are forthcoming if it doesn’t meet my standards,” Sentinel said, shifting his glare away from Jazz and back to First Aid.

“Of course. I won’t forget my place again, Sentinel.”

“See that you don’t. Primus knows I have my hands full with keeping everything else on track around here.”

First Aid inclined his head, and Sentinel made a sound of disgust as he crossed his arms behind his back and paced away. It was mostly for show. He could tell that Sentinel was already cooling off, genuinely intrigued by the changes he’d made to base’s network.

Two arms looped through his as Jetfire and Jetstorm flanked him and leaned in close to whisper in his audials.

“How you managing to activate ground bridge without notice?”

“Yes, very clever!”

“Did you see Sentinel’s face?”

“Ahaha, we for sure thought he would be throwing you in stasis cuffs.”

“You really know how to handle him.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” First Aid protested as they pulled him away from the main room and down a side hall.

The twins snickered.

“Oh please.”

“We have been teammates how long?”

“Stellar cycles!”

“You are sneaky little bot.”

“We _know,_ ” they chimed together.

The twins were clearly more observant than he’d given them credit for. He felt somewhat abashed when they finally let him go and offered him mirrored grins.

“So? What is real reason for this?”

“Not that we aren’t glad. It’s just unusual.”

“We have been on Earth a while.”

“You are not showing interest in these upgrades until now.”

“Why now?”

First Aid glanced between the two of them, feeling slightly overwhelmed by their sudden, enthusiastic interrogation.

They’d been the first to find him in field that day. They’d spotted him from overhead- a little white and red mech buried in a pile of stone rubble. Keen eyes and, apparently, keen minds. Truth would best serve him here, even if it was only a fraction of the full story. They would be able to tell if he wasn’t earnest.

“We’re not the first to fight them. Prime’s old team, they’ve got some good experience, but there have been others. There must be other records out there. If we could just access them, we’d have a better understanding of what we’re up against, and I… I don’t want to feel so vulnerable again.”

His reply sobered them momentarily. The twins exchanged a look, then each clapped one of his shoulders, their expressions more serious.

“Ahh, First Aid, you needn’t worry.”

“You are so rarely in field!”

“We would not let harm befall you again.”

“That time was fluke!”

“We will be watching more carefully for you next time you come with.”

“No ‘con will touch you.”

“Not Megatron, not Starscream.”

“No one!”

“Or _pow!_ ”

Their fists met in the air, and they mimed an explosion before promptly bursting into laughter again.

“You see?” Jetfire said.

“Safe,” Jetstorm finished.

They both smiled at him, peering through his visor intently to find his optics.

First Aid smiled back.

“Yes. The safest mech on Earth, thanks to you,” he said.

 

Accessing the galactic net again was such a boon. Data swirled at his fingertips; vast, rich, intoxicating. It sucked him deep into archives of information spanning millennia, and First Aid let it consume him.

It took a patient mech to sift through it all. He couldn’t monopolize the main computer systems as often as he liked, so he devised ways to skirt this limitation. He downloaded film and audio to his own processor to listen to whenever he was off duty, entranced by the images that flickered behind his visor while he muddled dream-like through them. He kept datapads crammed to bursting with old military records- both classified and declassified -accessed using borrowed credentials. He read through them in his room, parsing report after report, his face illuminated by the glow of a screen long after he should have shut down to recharge.

He was no stranger to the exhaustion that dogged his limbs and processor. Nor, indeed, to the giddy rush of discovery that kept him buoyed through the days and nights. This was all routine. And as long as it did not impact his quality of work, it was harmless. Just a hobby, like any other hobby. Time-consuming, yes. Perhaps a little suspect, but ultimately useful. It was important to know the enemy and how they worked. His research could provide solutions.

If only it would first provide understanding.

 

“Nice job boosting our networks, kid. I’ve been able to tap into abandoned medical archives on Cybertron.”

“I’m glad, Ratchet. Do be careful though. You never know who is watching.”

“Shouldn’t the data be encrypted?”

“Yes, it should. But I have my doubts about how secure it is all the same.”

He felt Ratchet’s optics on the back of his helm as he ran through a checklist of the medibay inventory. Their energon supply was still at a sustainable level, but as the Earth team comprised a greater number of mechs than it had before, their need was also greater. It could not be taken for granted.

“How is the artificial energon coming along?” First Aid inquired as he moved onto the next item on his list.

“Slowly. Learned my lesson the first time. Take the trial phase too fast, and you court disaster.”

“I’m sure you’ll make a breakthrough soon.”

“Have _you_?”

“What do you mean?”

Ratchet snorted.

“What else could I mean? You just made a cryptic warning about cybersecurity, and you’re the one online most out of any of us. Every moment of downtime you have, you’re on. You think I don’t notice?”

“I’m not trying to hide anything,” First Aid replied as he poked through their medical mesh.

“Did I say you were?” Ratchet shot back.

“You- oh, never mind. It sounded like you were implying something.”

“I was.”

“Come out and say it then, Ratch,” First Aid said, turning to look at him. Ratchet crossed his arms, optics challenging.

“I think this research on Soundwave is turning into an obsession,” he said.

“Soundwave isn’t the only Decepticon I’m researching,” First Aid replied.

“No, but he occupies most of your time by far, don’t try to deny it. And if you want to be strictly practical about it, that doesn’t make sense. His direct interventions are rare.”

First Aid grimaced. He was right, of course. His research into Soundwave was primarily self-indulgent and could probably be classified as bordering on unhealthy. But there was no way he was going to stop. Not before he understood why.He needed answers archives alone couldn’t give him.

“What would you suggest then?” First Aid asked.

“Give it a rest. Find something else to fixate on for a while. Get out into the field again. The twins have been asking when you’re going to pull another active duty shift.”

And just like that, an idea sparked in his processor. First Aid turned it over in his head a few times, testing it. It held promise.

He changed gears.

“Maybe you’re right, Ratchet. Maybe I should take a break,” he mused.

Ratchet looked dubious.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re agreeing to this too easily.”

“Am I?”

“When you get into something, you really get into it.”

“I prefer to stay focused, but I can disengage if I must,” First Aid said, a touch of defensiveness entering his voice.

“Well… good. Let me know if I can support you in anything,” Ratchet said. But his suspicion remained. Ratchet knew him far too well. He would have to be careful.

“Have the twins really been asking for me in the field?” First Aid asked.

“Ha. Won’t shut up about it. No appreciation for old mechs like me.”

“Don’t take it personally. They’re just used to working with me,” First Aid assured him.

“They’re terrors. You should see the stunts they pull. I swear we’ll be pulling their smoking wrecks from the side of a mountain someday.”

“Well, I guess I’d better go out more often and keep them in line.”

“Please do,” Ratchet grumbled, “I’ll update the others about schedule shifts, switch you out this next mission.”

“Hopefully it will go better than the last time I was out.”

“Just stay alert. You’re an observant mech.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I mean that sincerely, kid. Anyways. What is this about that cybersecurity breach you were hinting at earlier?”

First Aid had turned back to his task, but he paused again when Ratchet asked his question, considering how much detail to go into. It was easy to wax about his latest, all consuming interest. Harder to cut himself off before he implicated his plans to continue the research. His voice was tentative at first when he spoke, but gained authority as he continued.

“Well, the security here at base is adequate. If it wasn’t, the Decepticons would have found us by now. Our location and internal exchanges remain secret. But transmissions leaving base or coming in? Those are vulnerable to interception. It’s the same with accessing data over the galactic net. Before it gets here, it’s vulnerable. Have you ever had a situation where the Decepticons have seemed to know information they shouldn’t have?”

Ratchet hesitated, confirming his suspicions. Emboldened, First Aid pressed on.

“Soundwave doesn’t need to physically fight anyone to present a danger, although he is still dangerous as a warrior. Megatron has his Vehicons for brute force. Soundwave is better utilized in an intel capacity, and in that capacity, he is highly proficient. I’ve scoured report after report on the war tracing back millions of stellar cycles. I’ve read up on key battles that went awry because of suspected Decepticon double agents in the ranks leaking military strategy that should have been secret. And while I’m certain there were moles, what if it was also one particularly gifted spy?

Not all of these reports implicate Soundwave. In fact, most of them don’t. He’s very good at keeping a low profile. But the ones that do… well, there are similarities I’ve been able to trace between them. Commonalities that link them and other reports. It’s an insidious presence, but it makes sense. Megatron’s highest were all intimately involved with the war effort. And yet, even now, can anyone really say exactly what Soundwave does? No. It’s because what he does, he does so well that he barely leaves traces of his involvement.”

Ratchet gave him a shrewd look when he finished.

“All that from a few decacycles of research?”

First Aid shrugged.

“It’s fascinating. He’s… fascinating. And like you said, I have a tendency to throw myself into my work.”

“If you’re right about this… if you’re right about him, how would we guard against it?”

“I don’t know,” First Aid replied simply, “I’m no comms expert. I’m just- I have only been researching one.”

“Yes, well… I don’t like it.”

First Aid laughed, a quick burst of sound.

“Now you begin to understand my interest.”

“I still want you to take a break from this.”

“I will. I am.”

“Good,” Ratchet said, though his expression didn’t relax. First Aid waited for him to say something else. When he didn’t, he prompted him gently.

“Ratchet?”

“Hrnn…”

“Something still on your mind?”

“Just a thought.”

“A troubling one?”

Ratchet sighed, scratching his chin.

“Well, it’s just if he’s watching our net data, your research won’t have gone unnoticed, kid. You know. If someone is keeping an eye on you, you keep a close eye on them too.”

“Oh.”

…Oh.

It should have occurred to him. In retrospect, it was an obvious conclusion. But somehow he’d failed to make that connection.

Yes, if Soundwave was monitoring them, he would know that First Aid was digging for information about him. That kind of attention wouldn’t just be ignored. The moment First Aid set foot outside of base, he would likely be surveilled. It remained to be seen if Soundwave would maintain his hands-off approach and continue to observe from a distance.

“Maybe you want to hold off going into the field after all,” Ratchet said. He looked concerned.

First Aid shook his head. He’d already made up his mind.

“No, I’ll go. I’m sure it will be fine. Besides, it makes no difference if I leave now or later.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Alright. Be careful out there.”

“Please, Ratchet. After my last experience? I’ll be on full alert.”

First Aid turned back to his work, tapping a pen against his datapad as he went to investigate the state of their surgical knives. After another moment, he heard Ratchet grumble behind him.

“I’ll make the arrangements.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that Sentinel Prime existed in Aligned/Prime continuity, but I'm ignoring that for the purposes of this fic since I'm importing his team from TFA and trying to reconcile both canons gets messy. Especially since he's dead in the original canon. This fic is already going to be messy enough without trying to justify that. He's not a Prime here, since Prime isn't just a military rank as it is in TFA. Hence, just Sentinel. 
> 
> In less serious end of chapter chatter, obsessive First Aid is my favorite First Aid. Fan hard, lil medic. Fan hard.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who've read/bookmarked/left kudos and especially commented so far! I appreciate the heck out of all of you and I hope you continue to appreciate this story. See you in a couple weeks!


	3. Chapter 3

The ground bridge’s spectral light seemed even less real than usual as it eddied around him. The sound of his spark roared in his audials and hammered painfully in his chest, beating a two part tattoo in his processor that echoed relentlessly.

_You failed, you failed, you failed._

He didn’t want to leave this place. The moment he returned to base, his humiliation would only be compounded as the others saw with their own optics just how badly he’d messed up. Being deadweight was one thing. Having that deadweight put his teammates in danger was another. And every second he dallied in transit put them at greater risk.

Arcee limped in front of him, supported by Bulkhead. She held a hand to the wound in her side. Blue seeped down her legs, tracing her footsteps with a sinister glow that sizzled as it struck the energy vortex. He hadn’t had time to fix her, or anyone else. They hadn’t had much time to do more than fight and run.

They exited the ground bridge to a flurry of activity and concern. The world seemed to speed up again. Ratchet was there, an arm around Arcee instantly as he raised his head to look for First Aid. Their eyes met across the room.

“First Aid, report!”

“I got slagged by an Insecticon. What else is there to say?” Arcee said.

“I can see that!”

“We were ambushed. It was a trap. Didn’t see them until they were on top of us,” Bulkhead added.

“I don’t need the battle details! I need to get you all into the medibay for treatment. First Aid, what is their status? Walk with me!”

Arcee narrowed her optics.

“He doesn’t know scrap, Ratch. He froze up. Just like he is now. I don’t want him working on me,” she said, breaking away from Ratchet to limp the rest of the way to the medibay.

Ratchet met his gaze again for a few kliks, disbelief plastered across his face, before he shook his head, turned, and jogged after Arcee. Bumblebee and Bulkhead followed. He heard the sound of their raised voices, but dimmed his audials to avoid hearing what else they had to say. He could feel the optics of his other teammates on him in the temporary lull. The prospect of having to explain himself to them too sent a jolt of anxiety zinging through his circuits.

“Excuse me,” he said, then fled to his quarters before they could question him.

He didn’t have long to curl up on his berth and wallow before visitors arrived. They knocked before they walked in, announcing their presence but not leaving him the option of turning them away.

“First Aid, it’s us.”

“We’re coming in.”

The twins. First Aid drew his blanket over his head, tracking their footfalls across the room. After a moment of silence, he felt them settle on the edge of his berth.

“So, mine was not as abandoned as it seemed.”

“Insecticon trap. We should have suspected.”

“Still, at least everyone came back safe.”

First Aid scoffed under his covering.

“You call that safe? Arcee was badly injured, and Bulkhead and Bee didn’t come away clean either.”

“What about you?” one of the twins asked. It sounded like Jetstorm.

“Yes, you did not go see Ratchet,” said the other.

“Why do you think Arcee is so damaged? She took a hit meant for me,” First Aid replied.

“Arcee is soldier. She is trained for this.”

“You are not.”

“Ratchet isn’t a soldier either,” First Aid pointed out.

“No, but he has training.”

“Many years of experience in battlefield medicine.”

“You are still learning.”

“Well, that’s great, but we really can’t afford to humor my learning curve.”

There was a moment of silence, then the twins both reached over and pulled back the blanket covering him.

“They are all alive,” Jetstorm said.

“I couldn’t help them,” First Aid replied miserably, looking up at them, “She doesn’t trust me to do my job anymore, and I don’t blame her.”

“She is hurting. Lashing out. Her anger will fade,” said Jetfire.

“How do you know?”

“Because no one here is not free of make mistake.”

“To hold it against you forever would be greater mistake.”

First Aid exhaled through his vents, then sat up, hunching over his knees.

“What should I do?”

“Well,” Jetfire began.

“First, you should fix yourself,” Jetstorm continued.

“You are leaking energon.”

“Here, here, and here.”

“Also here.”

Their fingers brushed him lightly as they pointed out various wounds, all of them fairly shallow but beyond the ability of his nanites to heal completely without some assistance. He hadn’t even registered their existence, too absorbed in other matters to tend to himself. Yet another shortcoming. First Aid began to seal the bleeding lines immediately.

“You should recharge after this,” said Jetstorm.

“Then go talk to Ratchet when you online.”

“He can advise you on training.”

“And when you are ready, you can join _us_ on mission.”

“We are not as shouty as Arcee.”

First Aid simply nodded as he continued to patch himself up. Training was something he needed if he was going to set foot outside of base again, though right now, it was the last thing he wanted to do. Gibbering Insecticon howls still shivered through his processor, along with the low hum of their wing beats. He could almost feel their claws on his frame again, cutting grooves in his plating…

Someone pushed him gently backwards. Two someones. He fell against his pillow, staring up at the twins, who drew his blanket back over him.

“You were starting to recharge upright,” Jetfire explained.

“Looked like you were tuning us out.”

“Very rude!”

“He should apologize to us, don’t you think?”

“Sorry,” First Aid mumbled.

The twins grinned down at him.

“You are forgiven.”

“But get some rest.”

An easy enough command to follow. He felt drained, mentally and physically. First Aid closed his eyes and settled into recharge.

He thought he felt them stroke his helm before he slipped offline.

 

He set his chronometer to wake him up early and crept into the medibay while the base was still dark and silent, well before the others would have risen from recharge. His own systems felt lethargic, still not fully recovered from the previous day’s skirmish. He was relieved to see that Arcee wasn’t in the ‘bay- Ratchet had fixed her up and sent her back to her own habsuite to recover.

Ratchet was absent as well, likely recharging after a busy night. Standing in front of the medibay’s monitor, First Aid turned it on. The room lit with a blue glow. He blinked his optics at the light, then settled into his usual routine of research until Ratchet came back.

His subject matter was different this time. When Ratchet finally wandered in, First Aid did not hurry to hide his research. He continued to scroll through the Insecticon entry he was reading.

Ratchet grumbled behind him.

“Thought I told you to give that a rest.”

“I’m not reading about him.”

“Stop reading so much in general.”

“Tried that twice now.”

“Well, he’s tried it _twice_. Guess that makes him an expert.”

First Aid closed out of his reading material and turned to face Ratchet.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“She looked worse than she was,” Ratchet replied, quickly divining the reason for his apology.

“I’m bad at this.”

“Hard to be good when you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m guessing you haven’t done much in the way of combat healing.”

“No. I was always in a medibay or clinic.”

“Probably should’ve been upfront about that. I knew you were green. Didn’t know just how green.”

“I could have gotten someone killed.”

“Yeah. You could have.”

First Aid’s shoulders slumped. Ratchet was just being honest, but it still hurt to hear him corroborate his failings.

“Don’t get me wrong though. The medical stuff? You’re good at that. You just don’t know the first thing about fighting in field.”

Ratchet crossed the room towards him. His tone brooked no nonsense, but his expression was unexpectedly kind.

“I’m a medic,” First Aid said, “Of course I don’t fight.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Medics fight. We fight all our lives. Whether it’s in the medibay, servos deep in an operation, or on the battlefield protecting our patients, it makes no difference. You’ve gotta know how to handle yourself in any situation, and you have to be prepared to do whatever you must to save a teammate. That’s fighting. That’s a medic’s job.”

It was an inspired speech. Ratchet made it sound so obvious. And even though he’d come to ask him for… something. Advice. Training. It was still a different matter to accept the reality of the situation.

“As medics, we took a physician’s oath to do no harm,” he said quietly.

Ratchet’s expression shifted. For a moment, he looked withdrawn.

“That oath was drafted in another time. It’s a nice sentiment, but the truth of our work is that we must do harm in order to avoid it on a grander scale.”

His message was clear. There was no place for idealism in this war. Whatever reservations Ratchet might once have held, they were gone now.

First Aid would be wise to abandon them as well.

He vented quietly.

“I can’t let what happened yesterday happen again.”

“No. I dare say you can’t.”

“I need to learn how to… fight. Outside of the medibay.”

Ratchet nodded.

“It’s definitely a skill you should know. But you have to commit to it. If you can’t wield a knife on the battlefield with the same surety you do in the medibay, you can forget about training. It won’t do a lick of good if you don’t have the will to follow through.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Kid, you always have a choice. Come talk to me when you make yours.”

“I have.”

“Have you? Look me in the optics and tell me you could turn your medical mods on someone else if you had to right now.”

First Aid tried to hold Ratchet’s gaze, but the moment he opened his mouth to speak, his optics slid away.

“That’s what I thought,” Ratchet said.

“I should still learn,” First Aid murmured.

“I don’t disagree. But for now, there’s no shame sticking closer to base. This war has dragged on for millions of years. It probably won’t be over tomorrow.”

“What should I do?”

“What you’ve been doing. Helping me keep these mechs in one piece long enough to see the end of it."

 

It should have been good enough, but it wasn’t. He lingered in the medibay for a while longer, helping Ratchet run a few synthetic energon trials. None of them succeeded. First Aid left him swearing a blue streak and went to find Jazz.

He found the steady Autobot in his room. A polite knock gained him entry, but Jazz did not look up from his meditation when he walked in. First Aid loitered by the door for a minute before Jazz spoke again.

“You’re welcome to join me if you want.”

Crossing the room as quietly as he could, First Aid sat down cross-legged next to him and shuttered his optics, trying to find the same sense of calm that Jazz seemed to exude at all times.

It was hard. His systems were conspicuously loud. First Aid breathed slow and deep, regulating his intakes so that the air escaping his vents ran cooler and more silently. His spark was next, pulsing and spinning insistently in his chest. It refused to slow for a while, but eventually its lively crackle grew more subdued and faded into the background. As First Aid turned further inward, he thought he could feel the fluid rush of energon through his lines and hear the high pitched hum of his sensory net. He focused on the phantom sound. It was almost beyond the reach of his perception, and the more he tried to pursue it, the more it seemed to escape him. He let it go, sinking back into the experience, letting his senses pick out what they would.

When he surfaced again, Jazz was still sitting next to him, although his posture was more relaxed. He sipped from a small cube of energon.

“Good session?” he asked.

“Yes,” First Aid replied, stretching. He’d developed some minor cricks sitting in the same position for so long, but his inner sense of well-being was better than it had been when he’d sought Jazz out.

“With all that goes on around here, it’s important to find some time for grounding,” Jazz said. He offered First Aid a second cube sitting next to him.

The gurgle of his fuel tank reminded him that he hadn’t eaten yet. First Aid accepted it gratefully, retracting his face plate so he could drink it.

“So,” Jazz continued, “What did you want me for?”

“Advice.”

“What kind of advice?”

“Life advice.”

“Well, shoot.”

First Aid sipped his energon, dulling his optics for a moment to savor the buzz that warmed his fuel tank, cutting the empty ache of it.

“It’s a morality thing,” he finally said, picking his words carefully, “I talked with Ratchet. About what happened the other day, and what it means to be a medic. He told me even medics can’t afford to be pacifists. That the oath we both took to do no harm no longer applies. And I want to be useful. I want to help to the best of my abilities. But hurting people… I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Wait, Ratchet isn’t pushing you to learn how to fight, is he?”

“No. Actually, he wants me to stay close to base for now.”

“Then what’s the problem? You don’t have to be out there going toe to toe with Decepticons to help us. Just do what you’ve been doing.”

“I want to do more though.”

“Look, First Aid. We’ve been teammates for a while. I’ve seen your work. Healing is in your spark. Killing isn’t. Don’t become a killer just because you think it will make you more useful to the cause. You’ll end up killing this too.”

Jazz poked his chassis, right above his spark chamber.

“Team Prime is all hard angles and scarred mesh. They’ve been through a lot. That’s not you though, and it doesn’t have to be you. Stay kind as long as you can. Someone has to be kind when this is all over. Ain’t just physical wounds that will need healing.”

His words were serious but gentle. They soothed him, though First Aid couldn’t quite shake the feeling of guilt that still lingered.

“How do you stay so calm, Jazz? It can’t just be meditation,” he said after a lengthy pause.

Jazz smiled.

“The meditation helps a lot, don’t knock it. But it’s about perspective. Attitude. How you approach a battle.”

“How do you approach them?”

“Individually. We’ve all lost people, but making every battle personal poisons you. When I’m out there, I’m fighting to protect people, not avenge them. At least, that’s where I try to come from.”

“I… I like that,” First Aid said.

It made sense to him. Perhaps it was a philosophy he could adopt.

“What’s on your mind?” Jazz asked.

First Aid had gone quiet. Processing. And he hesitated to answer right away, so he took another sip of his energon cube instead, rolling the fluid around his mouth before swallowing.

“Would you train me if I asked?”

“Are you asking?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure,” First Aid admitted.

“What do you want to learn from me?”

“How to protect people.”

He waited for Jazz to turn him down, to tell him he wasn’t ready to learn as Ratchet had. But instead, Jazz searched his face, watching him silently for several kliks. Then he smiled again.

“I can do that.”

First Aid’s spark leapt in surprise.

“Really?”

“Sure. Can’t do any harm.”

Nervous frissons ran down the medic’s spine as he considered Jazz’s offer with equal parts excitement and dread. It was what he wanted, sort of. What he was pushing himself to do. But Ratchet’s words filtered back to him. _It won’t do a lick of good if you don’t have the will to follow through._

“First things first though, you can’t expect to protect anyone if you can’t even protect yourself. We’ll start with self-defense and build from there, you dig?”

Self-defense?

A wave of relief washed through him. Muscles relaxed that he hadn’t even known he’d engaged, and he smiled sheepishly back at Jazz. Thank Primus for his level presence and tact.

“Right.”

“Good.” Jazz nodded. “If you’ve got time right now, why don’t we get started?”

 

First Aid felt like the ungainliest creature on Earth. Half their training consisted of him tripping over his own feet. Jazz moved so fluidly, so confidently, matching him with his current skill level was impossible. But he was a patient teacher, correcting his stance each time he made a blunder and offering him advice on how to counter his strikes when he struggled to react. He slowed them down until it was less like fighting and more like a dance- a kinetic version of his meditation. When Jazz finally dismissed the lesson, he left First Aid to memorize a series of forms.

First Aid practiced them with all the tenacity he’d shown in his research of Soundwave, determined that the next time they trained together, he’d be lighter on his pedes.

Ratchet noticed immediately.

“What’s got you so antsy now? You won’t stop moving,” he groused.

First Aid looked up from the scanner he was recalibrating and offered him a shrug. If he’d also been pacing the medibay while tuning it, well, that was just multitasking.

“No really. Do I need to intervene?”

First Aid waved off his concern.

“Jazz is giving me some lessons in self-defense. I’m drilling footwork.”

“So you found someone to teach you after all.”

“I did.”

“Well, you’re determined, I’ll give you that. Don’t do anything halfway when you’ve made up your mind to do something.”

“It’s called diligence.”

“It’s called _some_ ‘bots don’t know how to pace themselves.”

“Are you going to forbid me from training with Jazz too, Ratchet?” First Aid asked, a touch of sarcasm creeping into his tone.

“Nah. But when you’re done messing around with footwork, I’ll teach you how to knock a mech flat with EMP,” Ratchet replied.

First Aid paused in his recalibration, optics sweeping over to Ratchet again. It was his turn to shrug.

“Reckon it’s good to go over non-lethal options, since you’re learning self-defense.”

He could have hugged him just then. Ratchet’s change of heart and quiet support meant the world to him. He didn’t want to be at odds with the older medic.

But instead, First Aid simply thanked him and made a concerted effort to tone down some of his restless energy while he worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How has it already been two weeks? These deadlines keep creeping up on me. I need to buckle down and really map out some of these future chapters so I don't fall behind schedule.
> 
> Hope y'all don't mind a slow build, because that's how I work. Also dialogue. I write way too much dialogue. Honestly, I should just go into script writing because half my writing is dialogue. I am so sorry.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and leaving kudos and comments! I don't always reply to comments, but I do read and appreciate each and every one. See you in October!


	4. Chapter 4

A fist hurtled past First Aid’s cheek, missing him by millimeters. But instead of stepping in to take advantage of his opponent’s momentary opening, he stepped aside. Away. Steeling himself to avoid the next swing. He expected Jazz to pivot and come after him, but Jazz only stopped and straightened.

“I think we’re done for today,” he said.

First Aid did not relax his stance.

“But we only just started?” he asked, puzzled by the brevity of their session.

“We’re not drilling strict evasion today, ‘Aid. You’ve had five different opportunities to hit me, and you didn’t take any of them.”

“I know, I know. I’ll try to follow through next time.”

“No. I can tell it’s not gonna happen. You’re not in that headspace.”

“Talk me through it then,” said First Aid, lowering his hands. He shifted from foot to foot, still buzzing with energy. Jazz shook his head.

“It’s not something I can talk you through. It’s something you have to find for yourself. Defense isn’t just reaction, it’s action too. You know. Stopping someone from hurting you before they have the chance?”

“So you’ve said.”

“Exactly. I’ve explained why this matters, but you’re the one who has to take the next step. You won’t follow through until you want to.”

First Aid blew a short, hot blast of air from his vents. Jazz was right. He was avoiding these newer elements of his training, but he still wanted to practice the rest. He was getting faster, better at minimizing himself as a target. Maybe focusing entirely on evasive tactics wasn’t sustainable in the long term, but in the moment, it made him feel good. He felt productive.

“Can we drill some paces?”

“Sorry, no can do. Today’s session would’ve been on the short side anyways. Sentinel wants me on a mission today, so I gotta prep for that.”

“Oh…”

“Your footwork is looking good, ‘Aid. How’s your training going with Ratchet?”

First Aid winced behind his faceplate.

“It’s going fine.”

“That bad?”

“He’s, ah, a bit less patient than you are.”

“Keep on it. In fact, since we finished so early, you should go see him. Get more practice in.”

First Aid did not reply. Jazz patted him on the shoulder.

“This could save you some day. Do yourself the favor. Anyways, Sentinel calls.”

“Wouldn’t want to make the commander wait,” First Aid said, nodding to Jazz as he started towards the door. Jazz waved him off.

“See you around. Good luck with Ratchet.”

The door slid closed behind him, and First Aid was alone in the meandering hallway. He stood there for a moment, considering his options. He could return to his habsuite with no one the wiser. He would have to see Ratchet later anyways, no need to subject himself to that so early. But he thought of what Jazz would think, and the little flood of shame that followed propelled him forward. Reluctantly, he started walking towards the medibay.

_This is what you wanted_

In theory, it made perfect sense. Evasion was a solid component of self-defense, but insufficient on its own. He could not realistically spend an entire fight avoiding his enemy. Sooner or later, chance would betray him, and his opponent would land a hit. Putting them down cleanly and quickly deprived them of that opportunity, and moreover gave him the time to do his actual job of caring for injured teammates.

And yet, the thought of committing violence still made his spark clench. On a fundamental level, it felt wrong. He thought that by now, some of the aversion might have lessened, but it still burned strong as ever in his chest, souring his lines and fuel tank.

It was going to be a hard lesson with Ratchet, he could already tell.

He entered the medibay quietly, drifting toward his work station. Ratchet was facing away from him, wrangling with something mechanical. He jumped when First Aid materialized alongside him.

“Primus! I didn’t hear you enter,” he exclaimed, shooting him a reproving look.

“Afternoon, Ratchet.”

“Aren’t you a little early? I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“Sentinel wants Jazz for something today. We finished early.”

“Well, I’m in the middle of working on something, so go kill some time.”

First Aid left him to his tinkering and went to work on one of his own projects.

It had felt a lot like a fool’s errand for a long time. When he’d first suggested it to Ratchet, the older medic had shut him down. Hard. He learned afterward why; it hit too close to home. But Ratchet had gradually changed his tune. He supported his efforts now, even if progress was slow. He just couldn’t bring himself to engage with the research, too bogged down by a history of failure and bitter regret.

After all, no one had ever succeeded in creating viable biomech. It was too fine, not the kind of work they could construct. The biology of it confounded those engineers who’d sought to try.

There was some pre-existing literature he’d found, but it was very sparse. On the whole, biology had stagnated behind chemistry, physics, and quantum engineering. The war effort focused scientific advancement on military tech. Everything revolved around it. Even his medical training was influenced by it. His knowledge vastly consisted of how to put a mech together and how to take one apart. Surgical interventions, triage, how to stop a system on the verge of crashing from going permanently offline. Emergencies. All response and very little research.

There had to be a better way. There had to be a future in this. Like Ratchet’s efforts to synthesize artificial energon. It was so obviously needed, and yet after millions of years, no one had managed to recreate it. No one had thought to. They’d lost so much more than a planet when they’d lost Cybertron. The ensuing diaspora scattered them through the galaxy, severing them from their past and from a culture and history that preceded the war. And he, born from the last wave of sparks the Well ignited, had only the dimmest memory of Cybertron itself.

First Aid surveyed his cell cultures. Soft, silver metal grew on silicon nanotube scaffolding in an energon liquid medium. It was a promising development. Previous cultures had failed to take, lacking the proper temperature or nutrient level or a thousand other confounding variables. Or if they’d grown, they hadn’t survived long, withering on the scaffold after achieving a certain limit of growth. He’d taken notes on the conditions, brainstormed improvements, and tried again. Over and over and over again. But these newest cultures seemed to be thriving at last. With any luck, they would continue to thrive long enough to fully populate into the beginnings of a more complex structure.

More likely than not, they’d encounter some new complication he hadn’t accounted for yet.

Ratchet found him seeding a new scaffold. A datapad of notes lay next to him- his lab journal. Ratchet examined it while he finished up.

“Making progress, huh?” the older medic said when First Aid sat back.

“Some, finally.”

“Better’n me right now.”

“We’re both working blind, Ratchet. It’ll come.”

“I hope so. By the Allspark, I hope so.”

First Aid gathered his cultures and went to hook them up to their respective bioreactors again. When he returned, he plucked his datapad from Ratchet’s hands to jot down a few more observations while they remained fresh in his mind.

“So,” he said when he finished, “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“You mean aside from your training?”

“Ah. Yes. That.”

“That _is_ the agenda.”

“Seems a little empty.”

“Oh, don’t give me that scrap.”

“I’m just saying-”

“Look, do you want to learn this or not?” Ratchet asked.

First Aid gripped his datapad a little more tightly than necessary. A soft puff of air escaped his vents as he nodded.

“Then subspace that and let’s go.”

He followed him to their usual place- an empty storage room lacking the delicate, irreplaceable equipment of the medibay. Ratchet rolled his shoulders as they entered, flexing his old joints. First Aid waited to the side for him to warm up, still limber from his morning exercises with Jazz. After a minute of this, there was a soft _snik_ as Ratchet swapped out his hands for two surgical blades. First Aid’s optics fixed on them, tension building in his frame. The knives were a new addition to their routine.

Ratchet gestured towards him.

“Bring out your EMP mod. Knives if you feel up to sparring, but I won’t expect you to use them. I do expect you to disable me though.”

Tension was replaced by alarm as First Aid took a step back, shaking his head. This was too soon. He wasn’t ready for this. He hadn’t even been able to hit Jazz during their lesson, and a clip to the chin had much less potential to do damage than a poorly controlled electromagnetic pulse.

“Ratchet, no, what if I hurt you?”

“If you don’t, I will. Even if I have to fix you up after we’re done,” Ratchet replied. His face was set. Serious. First Aid couldn’t tell if he was bluffing. He had the feeling that he wasn’t.

“Can’t we talk about this first?”

“We’ve talked more’n enough. Time for the experiential learning.”

Without further ado, Ratchet lunged, blade slicing clean and direct for his shoulder. Training kicked in, and First Aid avoided his attack on instinct even while his processor still struggled to accept that Ratchet was coming after him, perfectly willing to bury a knife in his plating. But then again, Ratchet knew exactly how much damage he could do. There was no hesitation; his swipes were all very deliberately targeted.

“Use it, ‘Aid,” Ratchet growled as First Aid nearly tripped over his feet trying to get out of the way of another jab. He dodged, but he was off balance now, and Ratchet’s next one caught him in the side, cutting clean through his plating and lodging deep in his frame. First Aid’s vocalizer glitched. He froze up instantly, gazing at Ratchet in shock as the older medic caught him. His side flared in pain as he felt the blade slide out, a gush of blue following. Ratchet’s hand was on the wound site a second later, applying pressure.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but you need to take this seriously,” he said, his gruff voice a touch softer now. First Aid only ducked his head, pointedly avoiding his optics. He felt heat brim behind his visor, pricking at his vision.

“I don’t want to do this,” he mumbled.

“You can’t just quit now. C’mon. We’ve practiced on mechanical systems. You have the control. Just turn this on me once. Just once. It gets easier after the first time.”

First Aid stiffened, then shoved Ratchet away and took a step back, shaking his head.

“I don’t want to do this!” he repeated.

“’Aid…” Ratchet warned, frowning, but First Aid just clutched his side and retreated, still shaking his head.

“I can’t. I just… I need to stop. I can’t do this right now. I need out. Now.”

“Where are you going?”

“For a drive. I need to clear my head.”

“You’re still bleeding,” Ratchet said, taking a step towards him. First Aid took three steps backward.

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it myself. It’s the one thing I can do,” he replied caustically, then turned and left the room. He shifted in the hallway, racing down the corridor until he reached the main command center. It was empty, everyone else either out on patrol or engaged in a mission, though Prime’s team would be returning soon with their human friends. Perfect. No one around to question this little excursion. First Aid shifted back to his root form and reluctantly paused to patch himself up. His processor urged him to leave _immediately_ , but reason told him to slow down and fix his injury so he didn’t spend his whole drive leaking energon.

When he looked up, Ratchet had entered the room and stood with his arms crossed against the wall.

“You really shouldn’t leave. You’ve still got a Cybertronian alt.”

“It’s not obviously alien, and I’ll bridge somewhere isolated.”

“You wanted to talk earlier. Let’s talk about this.”

First Aid keyed in his coordinates and pulled the lever, activating the bridge. He transformed back into his vehicle mode.

“I’ll talk to you later, Ratchet,” he said, then revved his engine and sped away through the ground bridge.

The bridge spat him out onto a lonely, winding road. Mountains rose around him, bare and scrubby under a pale blue sky. The air outside felt hot and dry on his engines, but it cooled as he accelerated. And oh, did it feel good to push himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d indulged like this. Stress gave way to euphoria as he flew down the road, taking hairpin turns far faster than he ever would have advised and relishing the way his tires burned against the pavement. He felt so alive.

He understood a little better why the jet twins performed their dangerous stunts. He wished, with a little wistfulness, that he could try a few of them himself. Take off from the ground and feel the air under him too, not just whistling through his vents.

He was not as alert as he should have been, lost as he was in his high. If he’d been paying more attention, he would have noticed the familiar pair of automobiles parked just off the side of the road. Instead, he raced past them unawares, dust trailing behind him as he pursued the next empty stretch, the next curving loop of road.

It didn’t remain empty for long. The unexpected growl of an engine challenged him. First Aid adjusted his mirrors. Tearing down the road behind him was a high end red sports car, with a blue armored truck trailing in pursuit just a little farther back. Adrenaline sparked in his lines as he recognized the pair from his research. Knock Out and Breakdown.

First Aid accelerated.

What were they doing here? Had he unknowingly bridged to an area harboring energon reserves? This wasn’t good. He had to contact Ratchet to bridge him out. But as he activated his comm link, Knock Out zoomed past, swerving in front of him and forcing him to decelerate in order to avoid a crash. First Aid braked, hard, then quickly shifted gears to reverse. The roar of an engine behind him stopped him, reminding him of his second pursuant. Boxed in by two Decepticons. First Aid’s engine and processor both stalled as he struggled to think of a way out of his predicament.

His options were limited.

“Ratchet, I’m going to need a ground bridge very soon,” he whispered hoarsely over his comm.

“’Aid?” Ratchet’s voice crackled to life in his audials, sounding concerned, “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve run into some trouble. Decepticons.”

“How close are they on your tail?”

Knock Out and Breakdown shifted out of their alts. First Aid cursed, then transformed as well. The mechs began to circle him, both wearing smirks that promised trouble.

“First Aid? First Aid, what is your status?” Ratchet’s voice came again, but First Aid’s attention was divided now. He turned with Knock Out and Breakdown, trying to keep at least one of them in his field of vision at any given time.

“What did I tell you, Breakdown? Autobot. I’d recognize a Cybertronian alt anywhere.”

“Don’t think we’ve met this one before. New recruit?”

“No, remember his alt? He’s a medic. He might have come with the last group and just stayed close to base until now.”

Knock Out edged closer, pulling out a staff that he twirled one handed.

“Which begs the question, what _are_ you doing out here?” he asked.

“Out for a drive,” First Aid replied. It was hard to peel his optics away from that staff, but Breakdown still circled behind him, a very present threat. He pivoted again to bring the other Decepticon into his field of view.

“What a coincidence. So were we,” Knock Out said.

They weren’t even chasing an energon trail. First Aid groaned internally. Running into them really had just been astoundingly bad luck on his part. Although… He frowned behind his faceplate. Wasn’t Knock Out supposed to be a medic? Joy rides through the mountains hardly seemed like a responsible use of his time. But… well, he supposed he was out here doing the same.

“Maybe we could all just get back to that?” First Aid asked, palms up in a show of goodwill. He turned to look at Knock Out again, nerves lighting up as he saw that Knock Out had circled even closer. Knock Out smiled unpleasantly and pushed a button on his staff. It sparked to life, crackling with blue electricity.

“Oh, I’d much rather get to know you. I’m Knock Out. This is my partner, Breakdown. And you are?”

“First Aid. I already knew who you both were.”

“Did you really?” Knock Out slowed a little, looking pleased. “Heard of us, then?”

“Of course. I don’t leave base much, but I hear stories from my other teammates. And, well, there aren’t many Decepticons who use ground based alts.”

“I like the way I look in a cherry paint job and gold rims.”

“It is a very nice alt. European make?”

“Yes, it is,” Knock Out replied. His optics lit with genuine interest as they roved First Aid’s frame. “As rare as it is to see a Cybertronian alt on Earth, I’d say it’s rarer to meet a fellow automobile aficionado among Decepticon ranks. So. What stories have you heard?”

First Aid swallowed, wracking his processor for something to offer. His research into Knock Out and Breakdown hadn’t been as detailed as his research into Soundwave, but one bit of information stood out to him above all the others. Knock Out was vain, and if he could keep him talking long enough to think up a way out of this mess, he stood a chance of escaping with his paint intact.

“You’re fast. And very precise with that staff. You’ve even taken down Optimus Prime before, which is very impressive. I can’t imagine doing that myself. I mean, you’re even a medic too, but there’s no way I could take on a Prime,” he said.

“One of my finer moments,” Knock Out preened. He sauntered towards him, no longer quite as circuitous in his route. First Aid resisted the powerful urge to back away from him as he approached, somehow managing to stand his ground. “But of course, I can’t claim all the glory for it, right Breakdown?”

“Right,” Breakdown said, just behind him. And First Aid went rigid as he felt the other Decepticon’s broad hands clamp down on his shoulders.

“We make a good team,” Knock Out remarked as he spun his staff again, then raised it playfully towards First Aid’s throat. First Aid leaned away from the crackling prongs and into Breakdown, cursing himself for forgetting about him. Instead of distracting Knock Out, he’d been the one distracted.

His spark fluttered in his chest as Knock Out closed the remaining distance between them, and he knew that he was caught. Dread twinged through his fingers, as electric as Knock Out’s staff.

“What should we do with this one?” Knock Out mused.

“Before or after we bring him back to Megatron?”

“I like him. He knows how to flatter a mech. Let’s keep him.”

“Whatever’s left, you mean?”

“How fortunate that I’m a doctor, then.”

First Aid felt Breakdown’s chest rumble with a laugh.

His comm link crackled with an incoming message at that moment. Ratchet. His voice was low and urgent, but still wonderfully familiar, and First Aid tuned into it with relief.

“’Aid, you need to get out of there immediately.”

“How?” he whispered.

“You _know_ how. You can do this. They don’t consider you to be a threat, you’d catch them completely off guard. Just two pulses, then _drive_. I’ll bridge you out as soon as you’re clear.”

Anxiety flared through him. Not this. Not now. It was the whole reason he was out here and in this situation- his stupid, stupid aversion to fighting. A small whimper slid out of him, not soft enough to go unnoticed by Knock Out, whose smile turned oily. Knock Out raised a hand to his helm and brushed a thumb across his faceplate, tapping it lightly. It lingered there while his other fingers curved under First Aid’s chin, tilting his face up.

“I wonder, what do you look like under the mask? Why don’t you show us your face, Autobot?”

All his systems ground to a halt. First Aid trembled as Knock Out’s fingers found the seam in his helm that housed the mechanism to retract his faceplate. If Knock Out applied the right pressure, he could trigger it externally, forcing it open.

Then his systems sprang to life in one, heady surge, and First Aid thrust his hands out towards Knock Out, EMP device activating and blasting the Decepticon with a powerful burst of energy. Knock Out’s optics widened and his mouth formed a tiny _oh_ as he was thrown backwards, unconscious before he hit the ground.

First Aid dropped, and the sudden drag of his deadweight pulled him free from Breakdown’s grip. He rolled as he hit the floor, bringing his EMP generator to bear on Breakdown. The Decepticon looked just as shocked as his partner when First Aid knocked him flat with a second blast. The ground shook as he fell, but First Aid was already on his hands and knees, transforming into his alt and racing away from the scene.

“I’m clear, Ratchet!” he cried as he accelerated down the road. A welcome burst of green light opened in front of him seconds later. He’d never felt so relieved to see a ground bridge.

“Are you hurt?” Ratchet asked him as he drove into it.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Good.”

He thought he heard a tremor in Ratchet’s voice, but he couldn’t be sure. It might just have been him.

“I did it,” First Aid said. His whole frame vibrated. He felt as though he might fall apart at any second, shaken into a million component parts.

“I know. I’m proud of you.”

“I hope I didn’t… you know… hurt them too badly.”

A raspy laugh echoed over his comm link, then direct in his audials as he drove out of the ground bridge and back into the command center. Ratchet shut it off and turned to greet him as he transformed back to his root form and stumbled through. The older medic promptly pulled him into a hug, stilling some of the tremors that wracked him.

“I think you can be excused for busting up a couple of Decepticons, kid.”

And he held him while First Aid just stood and clung to his solid frame, until it no longer felt like he would come apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should emphasize (re-emphasize?) at this point that this story is entirely self-indulgent and you should expect a lot of canon divergence with who shows up, when they show up, and/or who is alive when they should not be. But really. I couldn't have just Knock Out menacing First Aid. Didn't feel right. I love this terrible duo.
> 
> As some of you already surmised, 'Aid is young. As young as a Cybertronian-born mech can be. One reason why he was never actually involved in combat, despite being war-born.
> 
> You should tune in mid-October for the next chapter. Soundwave is going to be in it, after three whole chapters of no Soundwave. (Slow burn, they said. It'll be _fun_ , they said. Haha... I am so sorry...) As ever, thank you for all your feedback! It means the world.


	5. Chapter 5

Ratchet was right. It did get easier after the first time, although he was still hesitant to turn his EMP device on teammates until they’d confirmed that Knock Out and Breakdown were back in action, apparently no worse for their run in with First Aid. It helped to know that, even panicked, he hadn’t gone so far as to cause irreparable damage. With this roadblock removed, his training advanced. Rapidly. Especially once the jet twins caught wind of it.

Their enthusiasm was unmatched. They insisted on taking over as much of his training as they could justify, claiming that with their flying alts, they could best prepare him to face off against Decepticons. The twins dragged him out to remote locales and military controlled airspace whenever the three of them had a free moment. They took turns divebombing him from dizzying heights, trading off with one another as his target so that they could catch each other and prevent a crash if First Aid successfully knocked one of them out of the sky.

For a while, they’d also staged random ambushes around base, a game that Sentinel finally banned when he got caught in the crossfire of one particularly spirited skirmish. Joining into Safeguard, the twins had scooped First Aid up and fled the scene laughing. Even Sentinel’s threats couldn’t dim their zeal, though they did scale back on their impromptu trainings.

Team Prime didn’t seem nearly as fussed by it, though Ratchet muttered darkly if they ever got too close to irreplaceable equipment. If anything, their attitudes towards him seemed to improve. Bee and Bulkhead both greeted him when they saw him. But the most meaningful gesture of acceptance came from Arcee.

He was sitting in the command center one afternoon. Raf and Miko had convinced him to come out of the medibay and watch them game. Though part of him felt he could be working on something more constructive, he’d been flattered by the invitation. Usually if they invited anyone outside of team Prime to play with them, it was Jazz or the jet twins.

Miko’s tongue was poking out in concentration while she thumbed the controller when First Aid suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey. You got a minute, kid?” Arcee asked.

First Aid straightened in surprise. Arcee rarely spoke to him, and ever since the Insecticon incident, he’d found himself avoiding her. He wondered what she wanted with him now.

“Yes?” he replied cautiously. She gave him a wry smile.

“I’m not going to bite. Come on. Let’s talk.”

She led him outside, up to the rocky plateau that served as the roof of their base. First Aid remained standing as she sat down, until she patted the ground beside her.

“Sit.”

First Aid sat, forearms resting on the tops of his drawn up knees.

“I like it up here,” Arcee remarked, gazing out over the landscape. It was a beautiful view, all reddish-gold canyon and blue sky.

“It is nice,” First Aid agreed tentatively.

“I come up here to clear my head sometimes.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know what to say to her in general. He was at a complete loss, vaguely uncomfortable as they sat together.

“What did you want to talk about?” he finally asked.

“I wanted to apologize,” Arcee said.

First Aid turned his head to look at her, puzzled.

“What for?”

“The Insecticon ambush. I shouldn’t have been quite so harsh on you.”

“Oh.”

He hadn’t expected that. As far as he was concerned, Arcee did not owe him an apology for what had happened. The mistake had been his.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continued, “You messed up. You put everyone in danger by being there, as inexperienced as you were. You shouldn’t have gone. I’m not apologizing for my words at the time. What I’m apologizing for is how I handled things afterward. I didn’t. I froze you out, when I should have been offering to mentor you.”

First Aid looked away, ducking his head.

“I… wasn’t ready for that kind of mentoring at the time. I’m still not, really.”

“You’re making good progress, First Aid. That’s the other reason I called you up here. To let you know I’ve noticed, and that I appreciate it.”

“Oh, well, I’m just doing what I can to make myself a more valuable addition to the team…” First Aid said, rubbing the back of his helm self-consciously.

Arcee clapped him on the back, then stood.

“I know,” she said, offering him her hand. He took it, and she pulled him up. “Glad to have you on the team.”

His spark swelled.

“Glad to be here,” he said sincerely. Arcee smiled.

“Let’s see about getting you in on some less lethal missions, kid.”

 

“Sentinel! I have news for you and your team that you’re gonna want to hear.”

“Agent Fowler,” Sentinel replied, turning to look at the human with a hint of distaste on his face. Though he’d come to acknowledge Fowler’s usefulness, he was still no fan of organics. When the children hung around the command center after school, he tended to make himself scarce. Fowler maintained a veneer of civility, but the children made no effort to disguise their dislike. Especially Miko. Her guitar playing was the main reason Sentinel no longer occupied the space after school hours or on weekends.

“What do you have for me?”

“Something Cybertronian. Yesterday afternoon, a mining operation turned up what appeared to be a sealed vault of unknown origins. Government got involved, then I did. We’ve got the area on lockdown, pending your response. Could be one of these relics you’ve been hunting.”

“Unlikely,” Sentinel scoffed. “We would have detected the signal the moment you unearthed it.”

“The mineral content in the surrounding rock might be enough to scramble it. I’m just sayin’, the symbols on it look a lot like your alphabet, and my boys can’t keep the area clear indefinitely.”

Sentinel narrowed his optics, then reached for his comm device.

“Jazz, report to the command center. You’re on duty to investigate a potential relic sighting. Low stakes, but time sensitive.”

“Sir,” First Aid spoke up when Sentinel lowered his hand, “Are you only sending Jazz, or do you plan on accompanying him?”

“It’s an easy mission. Bridge in, locate and collect this alleged Cybertronian artifact, bridge back out. The ‘cons don’t even know it exists. There’s no need for me to go along.”

“If it’s no trouble then, could I go with him?”

Sentinel made a dismissive sound as Jazz entered the room, walking quickly.

“Sure. Knock yourself out. Jazz, you’ve got a ride-along.”

“First Aid, you’re comin’?” Jazz asked, flashing him a smile.

“Yes, if you don’t mind,” he replied, straightening to attention.

“Nah, you’re welcome. So where are we headed?”

 

The coordinates Fowler provided them with were not precise. They bridged in just outside of the mining operation. The agent had been true to his word- the area was clear of human activity, an artificial lockdown maintained by a military perimeter posted a mile out.

Both of them gazed at the mouth of the tunnel and exchanged glances. Unlike Decepticon energon mining sites, this one was definitely human-sized.

“Looks like it’s gonna be tight. Maybe it’s a good thing you came along after all,” Jazz said.

“I think we’d better switch over to vehicle mode.”

“Good call, ‘Aid. Sentinel, we’re heading in now. Comms may be patchy with the mineral content. We’ll check in if we can. Over and out.”

They swapped out for their alts, taking the tunnels slowly and cautiously. It was far from a smooth ride, and walls felt claustrophobically close. Though Fowler had transmitted a digital layout of the operation to them, it was still easy to get turned around. They had to back track a few times as they re-consulted their map and re-oriented themselves.

They passed mine shafts every so often, the fresh breeze a welcome chill on First Aid’s frame. They’d just driven past another when First Aid heard a crackle of static in his audials. He and Jazz both stopped abruptly, tires squealing.

“You heard that too?” Jazz asked.

“Yeah,” First Aid said.

Jazz’s headlights dimmed as he idled his engine.

“This is Jazz to base, do you read? Thought we heard a comm.”

Silence, then another crackle. Broken sounds, difficult to make out.

“Let’s back track to the shaft,” First Aid said. “The signal might be clearer.”

Engines revving, they reversed. Static spilled through their comms in a flood now. And then they were beneath the mine shaft, words coalescing out of white noise in their audials, and the message was still fragmented, but undeniably desperate.

“… hear me?! … bridge back! … Deceptico- … need ….”

Something was very wrong.

“Jazz to base. We just received your comm. I’m transmitting our current coordinates.”

“About time!”

Sentinel’s voice roared into both their audials. First Aid cringed.

“What’s the situation, boss?” Jazz asked.

“… brief y- … here!” came Sentinel’s reply. Seconds later, a burst of green light illuminated the tunnel as a ground-bridge opened in front of them. But Jazz did not drive through it immediately. He hesitated.

“You need us both back?” he asked Sentinel.

“Need ….. -at can fight!”

Jazz angled his mirrors towards First Aid and addressed him in a low, urgent tone.

“It sounds like there’s somethin’ real serious going down. You think you can handle the rest of this mission on your own?”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t go back with you?”

“If Sentinel’s this riled up about ‘con activity, I think it’s probably a situation you aren’t ready for. Find the relic, then get back to base. We’re pretty close to it anyhow.”

“Ok.”

Jazz flashed his lights comfortingly.

“I’ll catch up with you later, ‘Aid,” he said, then revved his engine and took off. First Aid watched him disappear into the ground-bridge. A moment later, it too blinked out of existence, and he was alone.

He started driving.

They’d already passed through several of the chamber landmarks indicated in the layout scheme. Unless they’d gotten turned around again, he would be entering the location of the relic soon. But the tunnels seemed longer with Jazz’s departure, and the reason for his absence weighed heavy on First Aid’s processor. Just what was going on? He wished he wasn’t trapped underground, unable to send or receive a reliable comm. It was going to be a challenge to transmit his coordinates back to base for a bridge once he actually found the relic. He hoped that, whatever the situation was, Jazz could handle it.

The phantom hum of Insecticon wings buzzed in his audials, and First Aid shuddered internally, putting it out of mind. There was nothing he could do right now. He had his own task to see through. First Aid drove on, sensors alert for the relic’s telltale energy signature.

It eluded him for another ten minutes. When it finally appeared on his dashboard’s display, a faint but growing blip, he felt his spark lift. There! First Aid accelerated, taking the tunnel as fast as he could. The mine echoed with his engine’s roar until, at last, the mouth of it widened and opened up onto another chamber. First Aid drove through, laughing a little as he finally transformed back to his root mode. The ceiling here was high enough that he didn’t have to stoop, and it felt good to finally stretch out and allow himself a moment of celebration despite the ominous message that had called his mission partner away.

The relic sat against one of the far walls, surrounded by excavated rock and fenced off by security rope. He walked over to it, hand smoothing over the durable metal shell. True to Agent Fowler’s report, it appeared to be some kind of vault, with the actual relic sealed inside. Cybertronian glyphs decorated the exterior, though they were written in an archaic dialect he couldn’t decipher.

The vault was also surprisingly big- nearly his size, in fact. It would be very difficult to move on his own. Reaching for his comm device, First Aid sent an experimental message.

“Ratchet, can you hear me? First Aid reporting in. I’ve found the relic. Transmitting my coordinates.”

No response. He hadn’t expected one. If the relic’s signal was being scrambled, it was unlikely Ratchet would be able to pick up a comm signal either. Well, he’d have to backtrack to an air shaft and attempt to get a signal through there. He shifted to his vehicle mode and drove back into the tunnel, stifling his impatience.

His sensors picked up the stir of fresh airflow before his optics found the shaft.

“Ratchet, can you hear me?” he repeated. His comms remained silent. Then, just as he’d resigned himself to finding a better spot, he heard a crackle.

“’Aid?”

First Aid vented with relief as Ratchet’s voice came over the line.

“Ratchet, I’ve located the relic! I need some help moving it though. I’m sending the coordinates, can you bridge over and give me a hand?”

There was another prolonged silence before Ratchet replied.

“I’ve got a lock on them. I’ll see you soon.”

His voice was surprisingly clear given the choppiness of Sentinel’s earlier comm attempt, but he wouldn’t question this bit of luck. At least he’d managed to get through to him in a timely fashion. First Aid retraced his path to the relic, lines singing with anticipation. He managed to beat Ratchet back to the cavern, transforming back to his mech alt as a ground bridge opened behind him. First Aid turned around, waiting for his friend to emerge from the green vortex.

He froze as another figure stepped out. Familiar, but definitely not the mech he’d expected to see. His processor whirred, confusion and alarm warring with each other for emotional primacy.

“S-Soundwave?” he stuttered as the ground bridge closed behind the lithe Decepticon. Soundwave advanced on him slowly and purposefully. First Aid took a step backwards, then another, too shocked to do more than retreat. It was only when Soundwave’s cables emerged from his chest, sparking with charge, that First Aid’s training kicked in. He raised his arm, EMP device pointed towards Soundwave and crackling with charge of its own while he planted his feet, resolved not to budge another centimeter. Soundwave stopped, visor tilted towards the device. His cables twisted in the air, but came no closer.

First Aid watched him for a few beats longer, until he was sure Soundwave would truly not attack. He did not lower his arm, but he allowed himself to relax slightly. A million questions spun through his mind, demanding answers. First Aid tried to steady his trembling frame while he sifted through them, looking for a place to even begin. He settled on the one that clamored loudest.

“Why are you here?”

Soundwave slowly raised an arm, pointing. First Aid did not have to follow his finger to know where it led. The relic. Of course.

“How did you know it was here?”

Soundwave’s arm drifted, and First Aid swallowed as he pointed directly at him this time.

“Me? But, how…?”

Soundwave let his arm fall. A moment later, First Aid heard the playback of a recording.

_“Ratchet, I’ve located the relic!”_

His voice. First Aid’s spark dimmed and stuttered. Oh, Primus. He’d intercepted his comm to Ratchet. How could he have been so foolish as to mention the relic itself? But… he’d only just sent it. The response time was uncannily fast. He should have had more than enough time to contact Ratchet, have him bridge in, and retrieve the relic before the Decepticon spymaster picked up on his signal. And speaking of Ratchet… where was he?

First Aid’s will hardened. Ratchet would come. He only had to stall long enough for backup to arrive. The moment Soundwave’s attention was divided, he’d take his shot.

“I can’t let you take it,” he said, optics narrowing behind his visor, “It is my mission to bring it back safely.”

Soundwave shook his head. His cables coiled again, one snaking subtly to the side. First Aid grit his teeth and increased the charge on his EMP device. It hummed audibly now. Soundwave’s cables stopped moving. First Aid felt a little surge of victory. Here he was, standing up to Soundwave, and Soundwave was standing down. It seemed incredible. Still, he did not take the situation for granted. Soundwave was much more experienced than he, and his fortune could turn in a nanoklik. Who knew what strategy the mech was brainstorming right this moment? And, as he watched him, he wondered… when would he have a better opportunity to ask some of the questions his research hadn’t been able to answer?

When First Aid spoke up again, his voice was less determined and more tenuous. Doubtful. Vulnerable.

“I’ve been doing research on you. I’m sure you already knew that though.”

Soundwave nodded. First Aid drew air through his vents. His fans spun, agitated, and First Aid licked his lips as he continued.

“I’ve read through so many reports. I… I’ve trawled through as much data as I’ve been able to find. But I still don’t understand. I can’t make sense of it. I can’t… I can’t figure out why you did it. I’ve… wanted to ask you for a while. I’ve wanted to talk to you and ask you for decacycles. So… why did you help me that day? Your devotion to the Decepticon cause is second only to Megatron’s. Why would you help an Autobot? Why would you…”

First Aid trailed off. His other hand drifted subconsciously to the fuel port in his chest, cheeks heating slightly as he remembered the feel of Soundwave transfusing active energon to him. The warm flood of it swirling through his lines, pulling him back from the chill of shock. He would have crashed without it. Could have risked an offline.

Movement brought his attention back to the present. Now was not the time to reminisce. He couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, voice hardening again. Soundwave had stepped a little closer. His cables still hung in the air, swaying slightly and sparking. First Aid eyed them nervously. He knew how quickly they could move. He’d seen clips. If Soundwave decided to employ them, he would have to react even faster. But he was behaving for now, stopping as he’d ordered.

Where was Ratchet? What could possibly be holding him up? Unease curled through him.

“Do you have anything to say about it?” he asked Soundwave, trying to put his feeling of foreboding out of mind.

Soundwave nodded.

“So? Come out with it then! You know I have backup on the way. It won’t just be you and me for long.”

Soundwave shook his head, refusing, and a hot, frustrated blast of air escaped First Aid’s vents. He was maddeningly silent. It wasn’t that he couldn’t speak. He’d heard recordings of Soundwave speaking, and he doubted he’d lost the ability as Bumblebee had.

“Fine. Don’t tell me then, you enigmatic son of a glitch,” First Aid grumbled.

Soundwave shook his head again, but this time, First Aid thought he heard the ghost of a chuckle.

A new thought occurred to him, alarming in its implication. What if… he hadn’t been refusing to answer his questions? What if what Soundwave had really been saying no to was-

_“’Aid?”_

Ratchet’s voice sounded in the cavern, emerging from Soundwave’s vocalizer. First Aid’s fuel tank clenched.

_“I’ve got a lock on them. I’ll see you soon.”_

No. No no _no_.

His mouth felt dry.

“That comm. You… you didn’t just intercept it, did you?”

Soundwave inclined his head. A symbol illuminated on his visor screen- a smile.

First Aid wavered on his feet.

“He never got it. It was you. The signal was so clear because…”

Because very likely, he’d picked up on Jazz’s comm back to base when they’d first arrived outside the mine. Because he’d been close by since then, listening, waiting. That was how he’d responded so quickly. First Aid’s hand drifted from his chest to his faceplate, pressing against it reflexively.

There wasn’t going to be help. He had to handle this on his own. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure he could.

“Primus…” he whispered, shoulders hunching.

Soundwave moved. His cables darted toward him, and First Aid released the EM charge he’d held steady since Soundwave had arrived. Bu too late. A cable caught his wrist, wrenching it to the side. The EMP fired harmlessly into the air, striking the cavern ceiling and dissipating through it. First Aid cried out as Soundwave’s prongs discharged their own electrical current, his body spasming, then going limp in Soundwave’s cables. His sensors picked up the smell of burning, though his processor did not immediately connect it to the notifications of damage that flashed across his visor. First Aid cycled his optics, fans spinning weakly as he clung to consciousness, struggling not to slip away.

A sudden, stabbing pain in his arm brought him back. First Aid keened, going rigid as Soundwave ripped out his EMP device and crushed it. Distantly, he heard it clatter to the ground. Wet heat dribbled down his arm, a blue glow lighting the dim cavern as his energon spilled from the wound. Soft, tremulous sounds of pain slipped from First Aid’s vocalizer as Soundwave raised him so that their visors were level.

He pressed a finger to First Aid’s faceplate, shushing him. First Aid bit back his whimpers. As soon as he was silent, Soundwave’s hand drifted to his helm, cradling the side of it. After his violence, the gentle gesture felt jarring. First Aid shook, vocalizer buzzing with wordless agitation. It was too much like the other time, and he was no closer to understanding why it was happening at all.

“Why are you doing this?”

Soundwave pressed his forehead to First Aid’s. But he did not answer. Instead, another recording began to play, and this one chilled him more than anything else Soundwave had shared.

It brought him back to a time he’d hoped to forget.

_“This is First Aid from the medical facility Delphi. I’m stranded on Messatine. All other personnel are… permanently offline. My supplies are limited. I am in urgent need of immediate evacuation. I repeat, this is First Aid from the medical facility Delphi. If there are any Autobot ships within range of this frequency, I am stranded on Messatine-”_

The recording cut off, but First Aid had already disconnected from the present. He did not register the tears tracking down his face, or hum of his vocalizer as it glitched, spiking with high pitched notes that faded to static.

Soundwave’s cables tightened around him. A little current sparked through him, just enough to bring him back to awareness. His optics onlined, and he gasped, immediately shutting them again. Soundwave was still there, so close. His fans kicked up a notch, whirring loudly.

How did Soundwave have that recording? It was so long ago, far back in his past. How much did he know?

“Have you been… have you been researching me too?” First Aid asked, opening his optics. Soundwave’s face pulled away from his.

|Yes|

The word flashed brightly across Soundwave’s visor.

He should have known, of course. First Aid sagged in his hold, deadweight.

“I suppose you’ll go on being mysterious, then,” he said. “You’ll do what you came here for and leave me with more questions than answers. After all, you would have offlined me by now if that was what you wanted.”

Soundwave cocked his head to the side. First Aid frowned, not knowing how to interpret the gesture. He’d neither confirmed nor denied his words. Perhaps… one of his assumptions was wrong?

Primus, that was not a comforting thought.

“Are you going to offline me this time?” he asked nervously, feeling his spark quiver.

|No|

Soundwave’s visor promptly lit up with the word, quelling his fears. So then, if that assumption was not incorrect, that left…

“You’re… going to explain why?”

|Yes|

First Aid stared at him, surprised. Then his spark brimmed in his chassis with an upswell of emotion. His entire processor lit with excitement and curiosity.

Soundwave patted the side of his helm and hummed, an amused sound.

|I will explain|

|But not here|

In the nanokliks it took for First Aid’s excitement to waver, Soundwave’s cables were in motion again. Electricity sparked to life between the prongs. First Aid did not cry out this time when they dug into his plating. The charge that ripped through him was much stronger, paralyzing his vocalizer and overloading his neural net. He was unconscious before the last of the current shuddered through him.

Soundwave’s fingers skimmed over his limp frame, finding his Autobot badge. In one deft motion, he ripped it away.

He turned it over in his hands consideringly. First Aid’s arm still trickled energon from where he’d forcibly extracted his EMP device. Humming softly to himself again, Soundwave carefully scored an X through the Autobot insignia, then reached for First Aid’s wound. He smeared his fingers through the active energon, then brushed it into the newly carved grooves in the medic’s badge. Satisfied, Soundwave let it fall. It bounced once with a metallic clink, settling next to First Aid’s broken EMP device in a small puddle of blue.

Soundwave transferred First Aid from his cables to his arms, balancing him against one shoulder as he approached the relic. Unlike the small medic, he was more than capable of handling this task on his own.

Moments later, green light burst through the cavern, and Soundwave departed- both objectives successfully in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 3:30 am, and I don't have a lot to say. I think I'll let this chapter speak for itself.
> 
> No, actually I will say one thing. Writing a character who doesn't talk is both fun and really hard, especially since I typically convey a lot of characterization through dialogue. So. I'm kind of cheating here with Soundwave. But oh well. Nobody's perfect. Meaningful silence is hard to write.
> 
> Enjoy your cliffhanger. Chapter 6 will go up Nov. 1st. Until then, I'd super love to read your thoughts about this chapter since there's a lot going on in it. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

“I don’t have time for this, get Bulkhead into cryo stasis immediately!”

“Ratchet, I’m fine. Treat him first.”

“You’re not actively crashing. There’s a difference between fine and not actively crashing! _Move,_ Arcee!”

“We are ok too.”

“Yes, only small damage compared to-”

“Get on the fragging circuit slabs,” Ratchet growled at the twins.

He was up to his optics in wounded mechs. Within kliks of bridging them all in, he was running on autopilot, assessing the severity of their injuries and performing triage. There was no time to hesitate, and even less to argue down a bunch of Autobots with scrap for processors, because what _had_ they been thinking, staging an assault on the Nemesis itself?

Primus help him, the twins could _never_ be allowed to go on patrol by themselves.

“Ratch, where’s ‘Aid? Shouldn’t he be helping out?” Jazz asked. He had one hand pressed to his shoulder, staunching the flow of energon.

“He hasn’t come back yet,” Ratchet snapped, then shoved a wad of medical mesh at him and left him to patch himself up.

Curt though his reply had been, Ratchet wondered about First Aid as well. This was exactly the kind of situation where it would have been good to have another set of hands in the medibay. By all accounts, he should have been back by now. But between coordinating ground bridge support to his team, monitoring their life signals, and rushing them into surgery once they’d managed to regroup and retreat, he hadn’t had a chance to follow up on his mission status.

It was Jazz who finally took the initiative. Ratchet was curled up against the medibay wall cycles later, bent over his own knees in exhaustion when Jazz approached him with a grim expression. Ratchet looked up, blinking bleary optics.

“What is it?”

“It’s ‘Aid. I can’t get through to him. I’ve been trying for the last hour.”

Ratchet dragged a hand down his face, worry kindling in the pit of his fuel tank. He’d been gone far too long. Something was very wrong.

“I’ll go,” he said, grunting as he stood. His old joints screamed in protest.

“No offense, but as our Earth friends would say, you look like hell,” Jazz said.

“No offense, but everyone else here has sustained some form of injury,” Ratchet replied, brushing past him. Jazz grabbed his shoulder, shaking his head.

“Nah, Ratch. You need to rest. You’ve overextended yourself. It was my mission originally, I know the layout of the mine better. Let me go.”

Ratchet scowled, but had to acknowledge the sense in Jazz’s words. And shoulder wound aside, Jazz was in pretty good shape.

“Alright. Find him. Bring him back safely. I can bridge you back in where you left off.”

“Will do, doc bot,” he said.

“Jazz, I’m coming with.”

They both turned to see Arcee walking into the room. Walking was, perhaps, a generous description. Arcee’s limp was very pronounced. She’d nearly broken a leg, and her plating was marred by several burns and lacerations. Ratchet’s optic ridges furrowed into a hard V.

“Ooooh no! Absolutely not! I just patched you up!”

“Yeah, because I’m comparatively well off,” Arcee replied, hand on one hip. She raised her chin stubbornly, meeting his furious gaze.

“Comparatively! Bulkhead nearly offlined!”

“We’re wasting time. I don’t care what you say, Ratchet, I’m going. I can drive just fine.”

Ratchet fumed.

Stupid, stubborn, glitched in the head-

“Gotta agree with Ratchet here, Arcee. You should be recharging. But… whatever went down, it might be good to have another mech backing me up,” Jazz said.

Arcee swapped her hands out for a pair of ion guns.

“Still got plenty of firepower left in me.”

“Oh _honestly_ ,” Ratchet huffed, crossing his arms. “Listen to your medic for once in your life.”

“I’ll rest when I’m offline, Ratch.”

“That’s what I worry about.”

 

They took the tunnels fast, though they kept their optic sensors alert for signs of a cave in. It seemed like the most probable reason for First Aid’s delay. It was also the most hopeful. If he’d gotten pinned under a rock fall in an area where he couldn’t get a message through to base, he’d be trapped until help arrived. But the tunnels remained open and free of rubble, making that theory less likely with each passing minute.

Then they reached the relic cavern, and their worst fears were confirmed.

Jazz knelt by the congealing puddle of blue energon, picking up ‘Aid’s Autobot badge and crumpled EMP device while Arcee paced around the chamber.

“There’s no sign of the relic. ‘Cons must have been here too,” she said, circling back after a minute.

“Could’ve told you that from this,” Jazz replied, showing her the distinctive scores in the damaged Autobot badge. Arcee’s optics narrowed. There was no mistaking their intent.

“Scrap. We’ve gotta get back to base.”

 

The twins were frantic.

Ratchet wanted to scream. Managing them when they were in a state was like herding minibots- absolutely futile.

“Settle down, you’ll re-open your welds!” he ordered, but if he was honest with himself, he was just as concerned.

They didn’t listen. They were both upright, leaning against each other for support even while they raised hell and demanded immediate action.

“We must go after him!”

“He may still be online!”

“We cannot leave behind our comrade!”

“No one here is in any condition to storm the Nemesis because you two already tried that today. Besides, we don’t know where it is anymore,” Ratchet said.

“Sparkless drone!” Jetfire cried.

“Cowardly glitchmouse!” Jetstorm declared.

“Enough!” Sentinel ordered, and for a moment, there was silence. Then the twins started clamoring again.

“Sentinel, sir, First Aid needs our help!”

“We will fly far! We will find the Nemesis again!”

“You will stay grounded, soldiers. We’ve got more pressing concerns.”

The twins looked appalled.

“What is possibly more important?” Jetfire demanded.

“Security. If First Aid was captured alive by Decepticons, they’ll be interrogating him for information about our location, and let’s face it- he’ll crack, quickly.”

“So what do we do?” Arcee asked. She’d been silent since she’d given her report with Jazz. Her voice sounded brittle now- hard, but fragile.

“Contact Agent Fowler. Gather ourselves. We don’t know how much time we have to evacuate. Grab anything irreplaceable, and get ready to bridge to my ship.”

“What about the kids?”

“What about them?” Sentinel asked. Arcee’s expression darkened. Bumblebee beeped mutinously where he stood.

“They might be in danger too,” Arcee said.

Sentinel made an exasperated sound.

“Tell that to Fowler. I don’t care. Now hop to it, we’re on a deadline here.”

“Yes _sir_ ,” she said with venom, then limped away.

The rest of them scattered, except for the twins. They remained behind, still leaning against each other, but trembling now. Ratchet cleared his vocalizer.

“You two should go grab your things.”

They turned as one, their faces rigid with fury, but it melted away to grief when they saw the compassion in Ratchet’s optics. Staggering over to him, the twins threw their arms around him and began to cry.

“We promised we would protect him!”

“We promised to keep him safe!”

“Now Decepticons have him-”

“-And we cannot help!”

Ratchet patted them awkwardly as they clung to him and sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Our fault too,” Jetstorm said miserably.

“We provoked conflict. ‘Aid was left on mission alone,” Jetfire continued.

It was technically true, but it wasn’t what they needed to hear right now. They’d get plenty of criticism in the future for their mistake. But if it cost them the life of their teammate, nothing anyone else could say would weigh heavier on their shoulders than that guilt. Ratchet closed his optics.

“There was only one mech who could have known about that mission. If First Aid’s fate is in his hands, it might not be so clear cut.”

The twins stiffened, pulling away.

“Who?”

“Soundwave. Megatron’s spymaster.”

“And what is this having to do with First Aid’s fate?”

Ratchet sighed. It felt wrong to offer them hope like this, but… some part of him was also hopeful. He had to be. He had to believe there was a chance First Aid would survive.

_Too many mechs have died for this war. Primus, spare this one spark…_

“Because Soundwave saved him once,” Ratchet replied.

 

 ...

Waking up was a process.

Pain was the first thing he was aware of. His entire neural net ached, and his arm throbbed steadily. First Aid’s fingers brushed over the site experimentally. He frowned when they encountered a strange piece of metal that felt welded on. Turning his head to look down at it, he noted with blank interest that it appeared to be some kind of rudimentary patch job.

Then his processor finished rebooting, and he remembered what happened.

First Aid sat up quickly, gasping as the world tilted. Closing his optics, he put his head between his knees and waited for his processor to stop spinning, venting slowly all the while. Blankets, or what felt like them, bunched under his legs. First Aid fisted a hand in them, stroking a thumb over the soft fabric. Yes, they were blankets. Which meant he was in a berth.

First Aid raised his head and looked around.

Well, for one, he definitely wasn’t in a prison cell, but it didn’t look like any habsuite he’d ever seen. The room was spacious and exceedingly plain, with the exception of the computer station that occupied a generous section of the far wall. An array of monitors- all of them blank and powered down –reflected his own, curious face back at him.

First Aid looked back down at the berth he sat in. The topmost blanket draped over him was a lush purple, and the only thing he could call remotely decorative in this room. But then, he wouldn’t have expected Soundwave to have extravagant tastes. His habsuite- for there was really only one mech it could have belonged to –was a good reflection of Soundwave’s modus operandi: simple and efficient.

First Aid bit his lip. What could it mean for him that he’d woken up here instead of, well, anywhere else really? He suspected it had something to do with the strange familiarity Soundwave had shown towards him in both of their encounters, but he was still at a loss for why. Soundwave had promised an explanation.

_I will explain, but not here_

Not then. Not there. Now?

First Aid wrapped his arms around himself. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know anymore. If he stayed, he would find out.

But he couldn’t stay, of course. He had to make use of this brief opportunity to send a message back to the others. Pulling back the blankets, First Aid eased out of Soundwave’s berth and staggered over to the computer terminal on stiff legs. The terminal keyboard was taller than he could comfortably reach. First Aid blew a frustrated puff of air from his vents. Blasted Decepticon and his height difference. At least there was a chair. First Aid winced as he climbed into it- his systems definitely needed a longer recharge than what he’d gotten –but once he’d settled in, he was in a much better position to manipulate the station’s array. He skimmed his fingers over the keys, appreciating the Cybertronian tech as he located and pressed the button that would bring the system online. It booted in nanokliks, filling the room with a soft, lavender glow.

A series of glyphs sprang up immediately, prompting him for a security key. First Aid slumped in the chair. Of course it was locked. Why wouldn’t it be? He was going to have to locate and plug into an unmanned terminal elsewhere on the Nemesis, unless he could crack Soundwave’s security.

First Aid snorted, then covered his faceplate in embarrassment. Shaking his head, he slid back out of the chair and crept over to the door.

An electronic trill made him freeze before he could reach it. First Aid jerked around to locate the source and swore softly when recognized the figure perched above one of the monitors. Laserbeak. He hadn’t seen the minicon when he’d looked around the room, but with his dark plating and the habsuite’s dim lighting, he’d probably just blended right in.

His processor must have really been scrambled by that electrical charge. Obviously, Soundwave wouldn’t have left a prisoner unsurveilled in his own habsuite. He could try to make a break for it, but if Soundwave wasn’t already on his way, Laserbeak had certainly alerted him to his activities by now. First Aid sighed and returned to the berth to sit down.

“I suppose you don’t talk either?” he asked the minicon.

He received no response. Laserbeak was as silent as his carrier.

“I know you can though. I’ve heard recordings,” First Aid pressed on. “So, why is it that both you and Soundwave don’t speak anymore?”

Laserbeak fluttered his wings, but otherwise showed no sign of acknowledging First Aid’s words. First Aid squinted up at him. It seemed unlikely this conversation was going to go anywhere.

The door slid open just then, and First Aid turned his head to watch Soundwave walk into the room. His fuel tank flipped at the sight of him, contracting with sudden nerves. First Aid’s hands burrowed into the blankets and gripped them tightly as Soundwave approached him. The mech stopped a foot away from him, looking down at him for a klik. Then, turning, he sat down beside him on the berth. First Aid tipped toward him as it sank under his weight, though he managed to catch and right himself before he bumped into Soundwave’s shoulder. Still, they were very close.

First Aid released his hold on the blankets and let his forearms drape over his knees. Lacing his hands together, he looked down at them.

“Why am I here?” he asked.

He heard a soft metallic scraping sound, then one of Soundwave’s cables was delicately gripping his chin, turning his face so he looked up at him. Soundwave’s visor brightened with a single word.

|Interrogation|

First Aid felt his spark shrink. Whatever his strange sentimentality, Soundwave was still absolutely loyal to Megatron and the Decepticon cause. He tried to turn his face away, but Soundwave’s cable prongs held his chin captive. First Aid frowned behind his faceplate.

“Ok, but why am I _here_?”

|Explanation|

“To come before or after I’m tortured?” First Aid asked sourly.

Soundwave’s visor remained blank for a few kliks before a new word shone.

|Cooperate|

First Aid’s optics narrowed.

“No.”

Soundwave sighed, a gentle breath of air escaping his vents.

|Cooperate|

“I won’t willingly betray my team.”

|Betrayal inevitable|

|Save yourself pain|

|Cooperate|

“I can’t do that,” First Aid hissed. And oh, the prospect of torture was terrifying to contemplate. He wasn’t a mech of great bravery or durability. But he owed his team this. He owed them whatever delay he could offer before they stripped the information from his processor.

Soundwave’s biolights flickered.

|Stubborn|his visor read. Despite the lack of inflection, First Aid could feel his frustration.

“You would do the same,” he said. Soundwave nodded. He released First Aid’s chin.

His visor remained dark for a long stretch of time. Then, abruptly:

|I will interrogate|

First Aid stiffened, scooting away from him. Soundwave caught his wrist, and when First Aid tried to peel his hand off it, Soundwave captured that one too. First Aid yanked against his grip, but it was iron.

“Let me go!”

|Relay Autobot base coordinates|

“Like slag I’m telling you!”

|Continent location: North America?|

North America? It… was a reasonable guess, given the American government’s involvement, but-

|Confirmed|

|Country: United States of America?|

Confirmed? He hadn’t said anything. Was this some kind of bluff? They were easy guesses, he had to be-

|Confirmed|

|Region: North East?|

First Aid could have screamed. But he was wrong, at least.

|Negative|

|Region: Mid-west?|

“What?”

What was he doing?

|Negative|

|Region: West?|

First Aid felt a chill run through him.

|Confirmed|

|State: Washington?|

His guesses were too pointed to be random. Soundwave was reading him somehow.

|Negative|

|State: California?|

But how? What was his clue? First Aid tried to clear his mind, to ground himself so that whatever infinitesimal signal he was giving off would stop betraying him.

|Negative|

|State: Nevada?|

Nevada. His spark jumped. And he cringed at the word that followed on Soundwave’s visor.

|Confirmed|

|City:  |

“No!” First Aid cried, offlining his optics before he could read it. If Soundwave could not query him, he could derive no response. Soundwave’s grip on his wrists tightened, and he felt the thin plating flex beneath his fingers. A sparkbeat later, Soundwave pulled his hands flush to his visor, and the sensors in First Aid’s fingers began to read the patterns of light.

_.:City: Clark, NV?:._

First Aid began to weep. He dialed down the sensitivity in his hands, until he could no longer distinguish the flashes with enough clarity to interpret them.

Soundwave’s grip shifted. First Aid felt fingers slide into his palms. Then a tapping.

_.:City: Fallon, NV?:._

He couldn’t dim the sensation in his hands enough. The taps came through faded, but intelligible. He was implacable.

_.:Negative:._

_.:City: Hawthorne, NV?:._

First Aid onlined his optics again and stared up at Soundwave desperately. There was a momentary pause, then Soundwave’s visor flashed a word.

|Negative|

|City: J- |

The door crashed open, and Megatron stalked in, looking irritated.

“Soundwave! Why have you not been answering your comms?”

Megatron’s optics slid between them, and his scowl deepened.

“This is unlike you. He should be in a cell, not your habsuite.”

Soundwave dipped his head apologetically. This seemed to mollify Megatron slightly.

“No matter. Bring our Autobot guest down to Shockwave’s lab. He is ready for him.”

Soundwave hesitated. It was brief, but Megatron caught it. All his rage returned in an instant.

“That was a direct order, Soundwave,” he seethed.

Soundwave nodded sharply, then rose, lifting First Aid to his feet. His hands released his wrists, settling instead on his shoulders as he steered him towards the door. Megatron shot him one final, withering look, then turned and marched ahead of them.

It felt like he was walking to his own execution. With each step, he felt his apprehension rise. The tension rapidly became suffocating. First Aid cycled air through his vents, trying to cool his overheating systems.

One of Soundwave’s cables brushed the back of his neck. The prongs latched on, sending tingles through his neural net that coalesced into coded bursts of energy. Yet another method of communication. For all that Soundwave did not speak, he was remarkably inventive about communicating.

_.:Do not resist Shockwave:._

First Aid shuddered as his processor interpreted the staccato pulses. He shook his head. Soundwave squeezed his shoulders. A flurry of messages followed.

_.:You don’t understand:._

_.:He will break you:._

_.:Resistance is foolish:._

“I guess I’ll have to see for myself,” First Aid whispered.

Soundwave disconnected.

_Let him be angry then_ , he thought. Soundwave was the one who had brought him here. He wouldn’t have been in this situation without his intervention, so whatever happened to him next was Soundwave’s fault.

He didn’t really want to be brave, though. He didn’t really want to face what was coming.

_Oh Primus, give me strength_

He felt faint by the time they arrived at Shockwave’s lab. Here on the Nemesis, the sight of familiar medical instruments and appliances filled him with the opposite of comfort. Yet Shockwave did not wait with an array of sharp implements already laid out by the circuit slab Soundwave guided him towards. Instead, he held a single cable. First Aid’s optics slid to it as Soundwave lifted him and lay him on the circuit slab. Restraints latched around his wrists and ankles immediately.

It was the data shunt for a psychic cortical patch, if he wasn’t mistaken. Decepticon tech he’d only heard of, invented by Shockwave himself. Which meant his torture wouldn’t be physical, but with Shockwave as his inquisitor?

_He can probably pull the data right out of my processor…_

First Aid shut his optics.

“I want the Autobot base coordinates and Prime’s location,” he heard Megatron say.

“That information won’t take long to extract. Is there anything else, Lord Megatron?” Shockwave asked.

“No. Do as you will. If you discover any relevant information, report it to me later.”

First Aid’s spark wavered as he heard Shockwave shift behind him. But he kept his optics closed, repeating the same silent prayer as he waited for the cortical patch to connect.

_Primus, give me strength_

_Primus, give me strength_

_Pr_ -imus, give me strength.”

“Primus abandoned us long ago, if he ever existed. Praying to a dead god is illogical.”

First Aid’s head jerked up at Shockwave’s voice, and he blinked open his shuttered optics. He no longer lay strapped to a circuit slab in Shockwave’s lab. Instead, he stood inside a small but neat medibay. It wasn’t the crude space he shared with Ratchet at their base on Earth.

“So this is where your mind returns. Where are we?”

“Sentinel’s ship,” First Aid replied, looking around. Though he wouldn’t have expected this to be the place he retreated to, it made sense. He had spent a great deal of time here, after all. Much longer than the time he’d spent on Earth.

“Is his ship still on Earth?”

First Aid crossed his arms, gazing up at Shockwave stubbornly.

“I can’t tell you that.”

The antennae on Shockwave’s helm perked forward. Without warning, First Aid suddenly found his gun level with his visor. He stared down its barrel, mouth dry.

“I would advise against resisting,” Shockwave said.

First Aid did not reply. Two kliks passed, and he heard the gun begin to charge. Shockwave did not bother to threaten him again. Moments later, static sprayed his vision, and a tremendous force ripped through him.

When he came back online, everything hurt. His processor was the worst- a conflagration of circuits and fritzing synapses. First Aid groaned.

The barrel of a gun pressed against his spark chamber. Cycling his optics, he looked down at it, then cringed.

“As I said, I would advise against resisting,” Shockwave repeated.

“Y-you can’t really kill me here,” First Aid said, “It’s all in my head.”

“There is only so much a processor can take. I have quantified the average limit.”

Shockwave’s gun began to charge again while First Aid steeled himself. But as terrible as the last time had been, this was infinitely worse. He was able to process the sensation of the energy puncturing his chassis and colliding with his whirling spark. It was a moment of profound agony, too brief for a physical reaction. His body didn’t even have time to go rigid before his spark vaporized, scattering the atoms of his existence to the cosmos. But dying, feeling the essence of who he was ripped apart so brutally, felt like it lasted forever. _Ending_ felt like an eternity.

Onlining after that was a cruel joke.

Shockwave peeled him off the floor and set him on his feet. Only the pressure of his hand on his shoulder grounded him. First Aid felt as substantial as mist.

“Sentinel’s ship?”

The room blurred around them, going white. As white as the inhospitable continent where they’d hidden the ship. But before the details began to coalesce, something in First Aid stirred. The room went dark, then shone with soft light as stars emerged from the void.

“Gone,” he heard himself say faintly, “Prime took it when he left.”

How he found the will to lie, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure if Shockwave would believe him either. Prime had taken a small, detachable craft. Sentinel had insisted they maintain a means of getting off planet should things go awry.

“Where did he go?”

First Aid shuddered in relief. Shockwave had bought it. A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips, concealed by his faceplate.

“To find and unify what remains of the Autobots. To bring an end to this war.”

Around them, stars and galaxies continued to glimmer. First Aid allowed his optics to unfocus, imagined that the floor had dissolved under his feet and that he was floating. It was easy to slip away from the present. He already felt so disconnected.

Shockwave’s grip on his shoulder hardened.

“Bring us back. What is the location of the Autobot base on Earth?”

Desert. Gold and copper and beautiful blue. In an instant, they stood on top of a distinctive plateau, gazing out over the same milieu he’d taken in with Arcee. First Aid hung his head, feeling his betrayal cut deep to his core. But this wasn’t something he could have possibly lied about.

The barrel of Shockwave’s gun pressed against his back, cold and unyielding. He wished his vocalizer would spontaneously rust.

“Jasper, Nevada,” First Aid said.

A pause followed, as if Shockwave was assessing his words for truth. But he seemed to find his answer satisfactory.

“There is your answer, Lord Megatron. I will proceed with my own interrogation now,” he said. First Aid stiffened at his words.

“Is he watching?”

Shockwave’s head tilted towards him.

“Yes. He has observed this entire exchange, though I doubt he will linger for what comes next.”

Nervous frissons ran down his spinal strut. If Megatron was watching, then so was Soundwave.

“What else could you possibly want to know?” First Aid asked.

“You are a medic,” Shockwave replied, as if it was self-explanatory, “Now take me back to your medibay.”

First Aid clenched and unclenched his fists, but complied. The Autobot base dissolved around them, and Sentinel’s ship rematerialized. Shockwave finally let go of him, walking over to his computer. The massive Decepticon looked comically out of place as he sat in his tiny chair and began to type one-handed. First Aid followed him over, puzzled by his strange behavior.

“What are you doing?”

“Research.”

“I don’t understa-”

Words flashed through his mind, as abruptly as if someone had pulled them directly from his processor. First Aid reeled, clutching the back of the chair Shockwave sat in. The room began to warp around them again. Only the immediate space they occupied remained untouched- a static bubble in a malleable mindscape.

First Aid turned around slowly to watch a spectre of himself flicker through a brief montage of his youth. Awakening from the Well of All Sparks into a war-torn world. Feeling the pain of it as a newborn sparkling, and knowing intrinsically that it was his purpose to mend it. Getting picked up by an Autobot patrol, sheltered, taught his inheritance- and his profession. Fleeing Cybertron soon after. Scattering. Diaspora. Lessons from an impatient older medic first aboard a ship, then on a planet. A rocky, organic world. Cold. Uninhabited. Resource rich. Valuable.

_No_.

The mental reel faltered, then fragmented as First Aid resisted. Behind him, he heard Shockwave typing.

_Delphi_

The word flashed bright in his processor. A command. The room began to change again. First Aid shut his optics, ground his teeth, and brought it all to a halt.

He heard Shockwave swivel in his chair.

“What happened at Delphi?” the Decepticon asked.

First Aid shook his head mutely. He felt Shockwave’s gun press into his back again.

“What happened at Delphi?” Shockwave repeated.

First Aid whimpered. His spark convulsed in his chassis, remembering how it felt to offline. But he hesitated a few kliks longer before he finally relented. Time eddied around him as he opened his optics and allowed himself to be swept back to the doomed medcenter.

 

He lay under the deceased body of his co-worker, trying to ignore the way Ambulon’s cooling energon congealed in his plating’s seams. He’d disguised his own life signal in case the Decepticons thought to track down survivors.

It was hours before he moved. Hours before he crawled from his hiding place and walked around, tracking blue with each cautious step. The deathly silence of the medcenter magnified every sound he made. At any moment, he expected a Decepticon to burst in and level their gun at him, blow him apart as they’d done to the others. Patients, doctors. Everyone. But no one showed up.

No one ever showed up.

The ramifications of his survival didn’t hit him all at once. At first, he felt numb. Shellshocked. It was hard to believe it had happened at all. When the Autobots had destroyed the nucleon mines to keep them out of Decepticon hands, the Decepticons had turned their attention towards Delphi in retaliation. Their vengeance had been swift and brutal.

After a couple days- once he’d scoured the ruined complex and tallied every corpse he could find -the grief hit him. Every patient and staff member was accounted for. Everyone was dead.

It was a rapid slide into guilt after that. He’d behaved like a coward during the invasion. What right did he have to survive when no one else had? He should have been out there, trying to save others. That was his duty as a medic- to put his own life on the line for his patients, even under threat of fire.

_I am abhorrent_ , he’d typed into one of his datapads. It had once been a patient record. He recycled it now as a journal, recording his thoughts as he tried to make sense of his continued existence in the shell of his former workplace.

He hadn’t understood then how loathsome he could become, not until his limited energon supplies dwindled to nothing, and he was faced with an even uglier choice than cowardice.

He reached out first, broadcasting a desperate message across various frequencies while his fuel tank burbled hollow.

_This is First Aid from the medical facility Delphi. I’m stranded on Messatine. All other personnel are… permanently offline. My supplies are limited. I am in urgent need of immediate evacuation…_

No one responded, Decepticon or Autobot.

Starvation, he soon discovered, was incredibly painful and incredibly protracted. By his third decacycle without energon, First Aid was reeling with delirium. He’d curled up in his office and powered down most of his systems to conserve energy, hoping against all odds that a response would come in. But the line remained silent. In all likelihood, he knew, it would remain silent. He didn’t have much longer. Another decacycle, and he would lose the ability to move altogether.  He would offline here, just like the others. Just like he should have in the first place.

Except, even now, even after all this, he didn’t want to.

First Aid made his choice.

 

Outside the flow of his memories, he watched himself make it a second time. It was impossible to look away as he staggered from his office to the morgue, where he’d dragged the bodies of all the mechs who’d fallen at Delphi. Even if he closed his optics, he knew the scene would play out behind them just as vividly. He relived the phantom pain of his empty fuel tank contracting in on itself. When his spectre knelt over the frame of a Decepticon soldier, he could feel the icy metal under his palms as intensely as if he was there. It bit at the sensors in his hands, registering dull and wrong. Lifeless. A corpse.

It had been easier to start with the Decepticons. They were not his friends or his patients. They were his enemies, the people responsible for all this suffering. But slicing them open, bending over their throats to suck thickened, souring fuel from their lines… he felt even more despicable than the worst of them. Later, when his body felt steadier, he tried draining it into containers instead. But even heated and served in a cube, nothing could erase the memory of him latched onto a corpse, or the rush of pleasure that had suffused every circuit in his body when he’d begun to siphon after starving for so long.

The knowledge of what active energon tasted like was permanently burned into his processor. It wasn’t something he would ever forget, as long as he lived.

First Aid only vaguely registered the answering ping of an Autobot signal and Sentinel’s eventual arrival. Shockwave lifted him from where he crouched, curled around his knees. His memories scattered again, and the mindscape around them grew amorphous, fragments and figures flitting in and out of view as his processor dredged them up and banished them again at random.

“So, you’ve trained under both Pharma and Ratchet?” Shockwave asked.

First Aid laughed. He felt like he was swimming in his own processor, but Shockwave’s question was so level and direct, it seemed absurd by contrast. Piecing together a one word reply took all his focus.

“Yes.”

“Show me your research.”

First Aid laughed again. He laughed until his frame vibrated with it. Then he began to cry.

Shockwave continued to hold him up a few moments longer before he set him in his chair impatiently. First Aid sat there and wept while Shockwave bent over the keyboard and began to type again. Commands flashed through his processor, streams of data requests mirrored on the screen as Shockwave accessed his memory archives directly. Distraught as First Aid was, the scientist met with no resistance as he rifled through his processor for the information he desired.

It hardly mattered to him what else Shockwave got into.

 

Onlining, First Aid was immediately struck by a spark-deep sense of exhaustion. He felt fragile and unreal, as though he’d been strung out as thin as gold wire, then hammered back into an approximation of himself. His chronometer readout did nothing to resolve his disorientation- it was as scrambled as his processor.

Soundwave waited nearby. Though everything inside him felt broken and exposed, one last, tiny piece of him fractured when he realized Soundwave had likely witnessed the entirety of Shockwave’s interrogation. First Aid watched him a moment, then turned his head away.

The restraints on his wrists and ankles retracted. Numbly, he sat up.

“It was an informative session,” Shockwave remarked. His tone made it clear that he was dismissing him. First Aid did not care to linger. Scooting to the edge of the circuit slab, he slid off it. His legs felt fluid underneath him. First Aid stared down at them, trying to remember how to walk.

Soundwave was at his side then, steadying him. He made no effort to communicate the entire trip back to his habsuite, just kept him moving forward one step at a time until First Aid reached his berth. He collapsed onto it immediately, curling into a ball.

Soundwave shook his shoulder gently. First Aid groaned.

“What?”

Soundwave rolled him over so he could see his visor.

|Question|

First Aid blinked up at him, trying to make sense of what he meant.

“What question?”

Soundwave shook his head.

|Yours|

|Query: Why did I save you?|

First Aid stared at the words on his visor. He wanted to know, but right now, he wasn’t sure he had the emotional wherewithal to respond to it. He was too frazzled by everything that had happened to him that day.

In the end, curiosity still won out, blunted though it was.

“Why did you save me, Soundwave?” he asked.

Soundwave reached for his own chassis, plucking open a port and pulling out a slender data cable. First Aid’s optics widened at the sight of it.

|Better to show|

“You want to plug in? Are you kidding me?”

First Aid roused from his languor, cheeks heating with indignation as he drew himself upright. Soundwave had some real audacity to suggest a casual interface. It might be an efficient way to convey information, but it was also an incredibly intimate experience.

“Just tell me.”

Soundwave hesitated a moment, then nodded.

|Rumble and Frenzy|

|Your helm shape|

|Your size|

|Your injury|

|Reminded me|

It took him a full five kliks to process Soundwave’s answer, but at their close, he was filled with a fury so hot, it burned away the sluggishness that pulled at his frame.

“That’s it?! That’s the reason?! Haha! _That’s_ the fragging reason!”

First Aid screamed his frustration. His biolights flared, incandescing with all his rage and pain and bitterness. Because it was so simple, so _stupidly_ simple.

He didn’t know what he’d expected. Something else. Something more. Not just nostalgia. Not just a whim. Not just because Soundwave was reminded of two of his minicons.

… two _dead_ minicons. First Aid made a ragged sound, reining in some of his anger.

Soundwave still waited with his data cable. When First Aid looked back up at him, he tilted his visor toward him.

|May I show you?|

First Aid glared at him. Then, just as suddenly as it had flared to life, his anger fizzled out. He slumped as he felt the fight abandon him, energy spent.

“Whatever. Just do it. I’ve already had one mech in my head today, why not make it two?” he said.

Soundwave reached across, opening one of his data ports. First Aid looked away while he hooked in. Then Soundwave connected, and he was awash with the sense of another mech.

Despite all he’d read about interfacing- academic or otherwise –nothing could have prepared him for the actual experience. It was overwhelming. Soundwave’s presence surrounded him, blending with his blurring edges. First Aid panicked, withdrawing from him as he struggled to maintain his sense of self. He felt the brush of Soundwave’s amusement color their tangled processors. Then words, a soothing teal that distorted through him like an echo in a cave.

“You are safe.”

A sense of calm came over him, gently stifling his worries. He yielded to it, allowing Soundwave to draw him close again. Contentment fuzzed through their connection, a warmth that melted the last solid lines that defined them. First Aid sighed and swirled into their collective being.

Strangely enough, even utterly entwined, he could still pick out the individual threads that comprised who he was. He was more than himself, and yet, not wholly subsumed. A chuckle cascaded through him as his optics brightened with delight.

It had been so long since he’d hardline connected to another mech.

Except, he’d never hardline connected before.

The two conflicting experiences collided, sparking orange and tart with alarm.

First Aid felt Soundwave withdraw, unwinding them until they were two again.

“Too soon,” he murmured apologetically.

First Aid didn’t even know how to respond.

“I’ll show you now.”

This time when Soundwave melded them together, he felt more like an observer than a participant, as if there was a filter between them that allowed him to form his own impressions of the scene unfolding before him. Soundwave’s thoughts and emotions still flowed through them though, muddying the narrative.

The first memory was of two minicons, very similar in appearance. Rumble and Frenzy. Terrors, the both of them. Impulsive. Destructive. Difficult to manage when they had it in their processors to do something.

They hadn’t always been minicons. Their dedication to the cause had brought them together reluctantly. But their constructed bond quickly grew into something genuine. Respect at first, then affection, then… something difficult to describe in words. After everything, they belonged to each other…

It was a connection First Aid struggled to wrap his mind around. It could only be understood on an instinctual level. But it stirred something in him, something visceral. He felt the filter waver as Soundwave held him there, bouncing the memory of that connection between them until it resonated. Until, somehow, it clicked.

Then the memory shifted, and First Aid’s understanding fractured into jagged, aching absence.

Rumble and Frenzy were gone- their connections dead. He’d felt it the moment their sparks snuffed out. They’d been too far from him. They’d been too far from anyone who could have helped. When he retrieved their bodies and traced the patchwork of shrapnel that had ripped through their frames, he knew he likely wouldn’t have had the skill to save them, even if he’d been there.

The possibility that he might have never stopped haunting him though. The grief dulled, but it never fully left him.

Soundwave still mourned. In silence, he mourned, and First Aid mourned with him. Until the memory shifted again.

He saw himself. _Soundwave_ saw him. His broken, battered frame, shining bright in the rubble. He was so small and so vulnerable, and so far from help.

He looked so much like Rumble and Frenzy, down to the shrapnel jutting out of his plating. It had been a moment of weakness to approach him. But once stood in front of him, tasting the acrid fear of his spark and feeling the ebb of his strength, he could not bring himself to turn away. He’d reached for him, caressing his helm- even the shape of it was right. He could almost pretend this Autobot was them.

In that moment, he became them. A surrogate for them. The opportunity he’d never had to save them. And this time, he succeeded.

It eased the regret, just a little. This was a different spark. A softer, kinder spark than either of them had ever been, though he sensed a kindred stubbornness in him. It was a determination that went hand in hand with his curiosity. But strangely, as the Autobot slipped into recharge nestled in the crook of his arm, Soundwave found he didn’t resent him for being different.

It was on this note that First Aid felt the memory slip away. His sense of Soundwave’s thoughts and feelings dulled as the mech retreated into himself, leaving First Aid suddenly … less.

First Aid wrapped his arms around himself. He was wholly individual now, but it felt wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “For how I responded earlier. I… understand better now.”

“Empathy is powerful,” Soundwave replied.

“And you’re an empath.”

Soundwave said nothing, but the truth hummed across their connection. There was no need for a verbal confirmation.

In this space, there wasn’t much need for words at all. First Aid used them mostly out of habit.

“I’m still angry,” he said. And he knew Soundwave could sense it. He felt his presence return, surrounding him. First Aid focused on the feeling, giving him substance. Soundwave materialized, holding him in much the same way he had the first time they’d met, though a different cable connected them this time.

“I get why you saved me,” First Aid continued, “But that doesn’t justify this. It doesn’t explain why you brought me here. Interrogation aside- and it’s a very big aside, since you stood there and watched him root through my mind –why am I here? Explain that, Soundwave.”

Soundwave remained silent for several sparkbeats while First Aid waited impatiently for his reply. Finally, he tilted his visor toward him.

“No,” he said, and the word resonated with amusement.

Then First Aid felt the hardline cut out, and all of a sudden, he was plunged back into reality …and the rigid confines of his own processor.

He was lying on his side on Soundwave’s berth, with Soundwave loosely curled around him. Somehow, he’d moved him without his noticing while they interfaced. First Aid scowled and tried to scoot away, but Soundwave boxed him in with an arm. First Aid pushed at the flat of his wing blade, temper flaring.

“I take what I said back! I’m not sorry at all!”

Soundwave’s arm barely budged. With a frustrated growl, First Aid turned around and smacked his fists against Soundwave’s chassis.

“Answer me, you piece of slag! Why am I here?”

|No|

“You promised!”

|No|

“Yes you did! You can’t- you can’t just take that back!”

|Query answered: Why did I save you?|

First Aid paused his struggling, aghast. He ran the logic, but it was solid. Soundwave was correct. He’d only promised to explain why he’d saved him.

It still felt like a dirty trick. First Aid ground his teeth and resumed smacking him.

“That’s! Not! Fair!”

He punctuated each of his words with a solid thump that left his hands stinging. At this point, Soundwave’s cables snaked out and wound around his wrists, holding them at bay. First Aid squirmed, trying to free them, but as ever, it was useless. Soundwave was far too strong. He collapsed, fans whirring hard as he contemplated kicking him, but he’d probably just pin his legs down too.

A surge of exhaustion overwhelmed him. First Aid fought against it, tears pricking at the corners of his optics.

“Why won’t you just tell me?” he asked, vocalizer cracking with emotion.

|Recharge|

“I don’t want to recharge with you.”

|Safer here|

“You know where I’d be safer? Not onboard the slagging _Nemesis_.”

|Not an option|

“Primus damn you,” he said, but his voice lacked venom. He was running on fumes- he’d reached his limit long ago.

|Goodnight, First Aid|

There was a finality to his tone that he couldn’t muster the energy to argue with.

First Aid sighed, finally giving in.

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I have been pretty hype to share this chapter since I finished writing it, but nothing kills enthusiasm like editing. The pacing feels truly atrocious now. Oh well. Onwards and upwards. I'll trust that it's not actually as awful as my brain insists it is.
> 
> So, this chapter is pretty important for a few different reasons. I'll give you my fave reason though. The entire reason this pairing exists? I kept mistaking fanart of Rumble and Frenzy for First Aid at a glance. It was frustrating, then intriguing, and then I started shipping it. Yep. _Yep._ You cannot give me an inch of space to work with, I will find the flimsiest excuse to ship something. You're welcome. Now you too can feel as cheated as First Aid. But I digress.
> 
> Yes, Shockwave is here. We've already established that I've flipped the bird to canon, so in the end, this isn't even the most egregious of liberties I've taken. Did I ever mention I love Shockwave? I love Shockwave. I _really_ love Shockwave. There will be more Shockwave. This is your implied warning that you should probably proceed with caution from here on out.
> 
> Yes, I'm using interfacing a bit differently as a term than most do. But it seemed appropriate for this. Fight me.
> 
> I feel like people are probably expecting me to talk about the Delphi thing here. I'm not going to. It's an ongoing dynamic. I don't want to define in this space. I think that would be boring for you.
> 
> If you have any specific questions/things you want clarified, feel free to ask me in the comments. Honestly, everyone should go read the comments. There's some good stuff in there. As always, many thanks to the folks who take the time to read and leave me feedback! Stay golden, and I'll see you in a couple weeks with the next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

He woke to the sense of someone stirring next to him. First Aid’s processor floundered for an explanation as he turned towards the stranger in his berth. Then he remembered where he was, and the sight of Soundwave rising filled him with a strange mix of emotions.

Soundwave paused when he saw that he was awake. They watched each other for a moment, then Soundwave reached across and fixed the blankets he’d disturbed so that they covered First Aid again.

It was too much to deal with at that moment. First Aid pulled the blankets over his head and burrowed underneath them. He felt when Soundwave left the berth and tried to listen for when he left the room, but recharge reclaimed him first.

A spark-deep weariness permeated his entire being. Even when he woke for a second time that day, he felt a powerful urge to slip back into unconsciousness again. It was easy to stay curled up under the blankets and pretend the larger world outside this soft cocoon of darkness and warmth did not exist. It was easy, and so, so very tempting… but it wasn’t the right thing to do.

Crawling out of Soundwave’s berth required an enormous amount of energy, but as he sat on the edge of it, feet trailing against the floor, he felt a small glimmer of determination kindle to life in his chassis, then bloom as it grew in strength and vigor. It seemed his life wasn’t in immediate danger of ending. He couldn’t stay in Soundwave’s habsuite all day. He had to find a way to contact the others and learn if they were ok. With these thoughts in mind, First Aid slid off the berth and stood, striding towards the door with purpose.

Something swooped over his head and dropped in front of him, blocking his way. Laserbeak. The minicon held a datapad in his cables, which he extended towards First Aid. First Aid eyed it reluctantly. Likely, it was a message from Soundwave. Most likely, it was a message from Soundwave telling him to stay put.

He took it anyways, powering it on to read.

> First Aid,
> 
> Do not leave the habsuite. You may access the station in my room using limited user credentials. Do not attempt to contact the Autobots. I will return later with energon. If you must leave, Laserbeak will accompany you.
> 
> S.

First Aid looked up from it at Laserbeak, who still hovered in front of him, keeping him from the door.

“I want to go out,” he said.

One of Laserbeak’s cables extended and tapped the datapad he held. First Aid shook his head.

“There’s a provision for if I _must_ leave.”

Laserbeak fluttered his wings. Reaching up, First Aid very tentatively pushed him aside. Laserbeak drifted with his hand. Taking this as a good sign, First Aid brushed past him and reached for the door.

He felt small cables wind around his throat. First Aid stopped.

_Scrap_

Laserbeak perched on his back, magnetizing to his frame with a small electrical current that made his shoulder blades tingle. First Aid waited for the minicon to do something else, but he seemed content to just cling. When he reached for the door experimentally, Laserbeak did not stop him.

First Aid stepped through. He waited a klik, but when he did not feel the sting of a warning charge at his throat, he took another step. And another. And another, until he was creeping steadily down a long and lonesome corridor.

He had no idea where he was going, but with Soundwave’s minicon literally attached to him, there was no point trying to get a message out to his teammates. In lieu of that, mapping out the Nemesis seemed like a good place to start. He would find a better opportunity to contact them later.

He paused in front of the first door he came across. Given that Soundwave’s habsuite was further up the corridor, he guessed this room probably belonged to someone as well. After a moment of consideration, First Aid reached for it. Electricity shivered down his spine, a warning buzz that made him hesitate.

“Whose habsuite is this?”

Laserbeak did not answer, as usual. But when he reached for the door again, the buzz intensified to a jolt that had his fingers twitching. First Aid pulled his hand away as soon as the current released him.

“Alright… I won’t snoop…” he muttered as he rubbed the prickling sensors in his fingertips and moved on. They repeated this routine with the next door down as well, though he stopped after the first warning.

The corridors began to branch soon after. First Aid found himself at a four way junction and combed his processor for some memory of the route he’d taken to Shockwave’s lab. That was a route he wanted to avoid. Instinct urged him to avoid turning left. He went right. The rooms he found here were either locked or appeared to be dedicated storage. One room held nothing but box upon box of old datapads- devices that had been powered down for so long, they no longer held charge. He slid curious fingers over their dusty surfaces. Even shut away in storage, they’d somehow managed to acquire a thin film of it.

He moved on reluctantly.

By the time he heard voices again, he was almost relieved. It had been several hours. The area of the ship he’d left behind was strangely devoid of life. Even a Vehicon would be a welcome sight.

Unfortunately, the pair of mechs he encountered were not Vehicons. He placed their voices just before they rounded the corner.

“…It takes pressure off me to perform, but honestly Breakdown, I miss having the space.”

“I don’t blame you. Who wants to share a lab with that nutjob?”

“Let’s go for another drive soon. I really need to get off this fragging ship.”

First Aid’s optics darted around the corridor, searching for a room he could duck into, but there were none. He turned around and began to walk away very quickly.

“Hey… isn’t that…?”

“It is.”

“The little Autobot Soundwave dragged in.”

“The little Autobot who slagged you good, Knock Out.”

“Oh shut up, he knocked you on your aft too. Hey, _hey_. Where are you going so fast?”

First Aid sped up. Behind him, he heard Breakdown laugh.

“Maybe he thinks he’s too good to talk to us.”

“Well, he’s a rude little glitch, isn’t he?”

Despite his determined power walking, they caught up with him easily. He stiffened as Knock Out minced past him, cutting him off with an arrogant smile.

“Don’t think you’ll get away from us this time,” he said.

“What do you want?” First Aid asked.

Knock Out gave him a little shove.

“How about an apology?”

“I don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“You scuffed my paint.”

“I scuffed your pride.”

Breakdown snorted, and Knock Out scowled, glaring past him and up at his partner.

“Your support means _so_ much to me, Breakdown.”

“He’s right though, KO.”

“Whose side are you even on?”

“Soundwave’s keeping an eye on him. You really wanna rough him up here?”

Knock Out’s optics slid to Laserbeak, whose wings shadowed his shoulders conspicuously. First Aid watched his expression shift from irritated to sulky.

“No. Of course, I wouldn’t want to cross our _esteemed_ spymaster.”

First Aid briefly considered how this encounter might have gone without Laserbeak’s presence. He rubbed the rough metal patch job that covered his missing EMP mod. While the minicon prevented him from attempting to contact his teammates, he also prevented mechs like Knock Out from taking advantage. Without the device he was best trained to use, he really couldn’t defend himself very well.

There would be a time when he didn’t have Laserbeak with him though. By necessity, he couldn’t rely on him if he wanted to get off this ship. And if he ran into Knock Out and Breakdown then? Well. It would go better for him if they didn’t have an antagonistic relationship.

“I, uh. I’m sorry,” he offered, “For knocking you out. I didn’t want to, but you gave me no choice at the time. I was glad to hear from my teammates that you didn’t suffer any permanent damage though.”

There was a moment of silence as he watched Knock Out’s expression morph, his optics widening in surprise. Then both he and Breakdown howled with laughter. First Aid stood there uncomfortably, audials ringing with the sound of it while Knock Out leaned against him. He could feel the other medic’s frame shaking.

“You… actually apologized…” Knock Out snickered, gradually pulling away again. First Aid looked on, bewildered.

“… Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“Breakdown, he can’t be real.”

“I think he’s being honest.”

“I don’t understand,” First Aid said.

Knock Out moved to sling an arm around his shoulders. Remembering Laserbeak, he seemed to think better of it and looped his arm through First Aid’s instead.

“I was threatening you. You know, exacting a bit of payback?”

“Oh… Should I not have apologized?”

“The fact you’re even asking me that is honestly hilarious.”

Knock Out began to tug him along. At a loss for how to react, First Aid allowed him to guide him down the corridor. Breakdown fell into step beside him, a solid presence flanking his left side. But their intentions didn’t feel malicious anymore. Somehow, the air between them had cleared.

First Aid decided not to question it. He changed the topic.

“I overheard some of your conversation. From before you ran into me. Were you talking about Shockwave?”

“Who else? I don’t see any other mad scientists aboard this ship,” Knock Out replied.

“Starscream dabbles,” Breakdown remarked. Knock Out waved his hand dismissively.

“Yes, well, Screamer isn’t the one who took over my lab, is he?”

“So you’re sharing lab space with him?” First Aid asked.

“Yes, unfortunately. Mostly, I just stay out of it now.”

First Aid frowned.

“But… what about your medibay?”

“That _was_ the medibay.”

“No…”

First Aid couldn’t believe it. _A ship this size without a medibay?_

“I know, right? He’s so awful. He treats me like I’m a piece of scrap. I may not be a genius, but I know my way around a lab and-”

“Knock Out, you’re telling me he’s kicked you out of your own lab, and you still haven’t set up an independent medibay?”

“Well, no, but-”

First Aid pulled his arm free and rounded on him, hands raised in exasperation.

“What kind of a medic are you? That should have been your first priority! How long have you been without a medibay? Primus, what the frag have you been doing with yourself all this time?!”

Knock Out looked shocked by his outburst, then offended.

“Who shoved a scraplet up your tailpipe?” he muttered.

First Aid dragged fingers down his faceplate.

“Unbelievable. _Unbelievable_.”

“Look, you’re new here. You’ve no idea what a monopoly he has on resources.”

“This is literally your entire job, Knock Out! You have one job!”

“Excuse you. My position is _diversified_.”

“I don’t- ugh. Look. Whatever else you do, you’re this ship’s medic. It’s your responsibility to make sure your crewmates have access to medical care. That’s not going to happen if Shockwave is occupying the only space set up for it!”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to set one up yourself. Have fun running that project by Shockwave though, because FYI, he’s head of science.”

Some of his ire left him with this bit of news. First Aid withered. He wasn’t ready to confront Shockwave. He wasn’t sure he ever would be. But the smug look Knock Out gave him rankled. Oh, he wanted to show him up so badly. Knock Out had so much more power aboard this ship than he did, and while Shockwave was a terrifying mech, there was much more at stake here.

“Fine,” he replied, “I’ll do it if you won’t. But you’ll stay out of my medibay once I set it up.”

“ _Your_ medibay?”

“Yes. _My_ medibay.”

“You’re not even a Decepticon.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a professional.”

_Unlike you_ , his tone implied.

So much for trying to be strategic about developing rapport. Knock Out was capable of the most interesting expressions though, he thought absentmindedly. After cycling through offense and anger, he settled on affected apathy.

“Whatever,” he said, waving a hand, “It’s your funeral. Let’s go, Breakdown. He has an offline to pursue.”

Knock Out turned on his heel and strode back the way he’d come. Breakdown gave First Aid an inscrutable look, then shook his head and followed his partner.

First Aid watched them leave, system humming with nervous energy. He would have to backtrack, go a different way to avoid running into them again. But as he deliberated, he felt the weight of his impulsive declaration settle over him.

“Frag…”

First Aid smacked a palm against his forehead, internally screaming.

_What did I just get myself into?_

He began to pace, growing more agitated with each passing klik. Ohh, this wasn’t good. Not at all. Knock Out was right, it verged on suicidal. But the medibay really was a necessity, and he hated to back down from a challenge.

“Fantastic. This is just _fantastic_.”

Groaning, First Aid turned and retraced his path through the Nemesis. When he reached the very first fork he’d taken, he hesitated. He didn’t know for certain which corridor led to Shockwave’s lab. Reaching for one of the cables still looped around his throat, he stroked it tentatively.

“Hey, Laserbeak. Would you guide me to Shockwave?”

The cables coiled tighter.

“Please?”

Laserbeak refused to budge. First Aid worked a finger under one of the serpentine loops, trying to loosen it slightly.

“I know. It’s a terrible idea, but I have to try. This is important.”

Laserbeak gave a wavery trill. Then, miraculously, he felt the minicon de-magnetize from his back. Laserbeak released him, swooping over his head and straight down the central hallway. First Aid’s engines sucked in air as he watched him fly. So, he’d been correct after all. _Left to Shockwave_ …

It was little comfort to him when he felt the path begin to slope down. He hadn’t noticed the declination when he’d walked it yesterday. His processor had been elsewhere. But traveling down meant traveling towards the brig, the place he arguably should have been rusting in. The fact that Shockwave’s lab quite possibly existed in proximity to the prison cells made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like what it suggested.

_It used to be a medibay. It wasn’t always his lab. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything._

Laserbeak guided him unerringly through the ship. The route at once felt familiar and terribly foreign. He recalled how frightened he’d felt the day before and relived that fear afresh. It took him a moment to gather his resolve when Laserbeak stopped in front of a large, solid looking door. Here he was, standing just outside the lair of one of history’s most notoriously cruel Decepticons, and he was trying to pretend he had the courage of a Leonid.

First Aid’s hand trembled as he balled it into a fist and steeled himself to knock. The door opened before his knuckles made contact. Startled, First Aid peered up at the figure looming over him and felt his spark shudder under his implacable gaze.

“I was not expecting you back so soon,” Shockwave said. First Aid lowered his hand. The urge to bolt right then and there was strong.

“You seemed to be expecting me though,” he remarked faintly. Shockwave nodded.

“I have this area under surveillance. Your arrival was anticipated, your presence was not. Why are you here?”

“I…”

First Aid trailed off. Standing in front of Shockwave, his plan seemed even more foolish. He squeezed his optics shut, lowering his head.

“You oversee everything scientific. Knock Out said- he said you don’t- T-that there, there isn’t a designated medibay. I thought- I mean. I said I’d establish one, because he won’t do it. It has to go through you. He’s scared to go through you. So I- I just- … that’s why I’m here.”

His explanation was nearly unintelligible for how much he stuttered. First Aid wanted to turn around and scuttle away, back through the dim halls to Soundwave’s habsuite or one of the storage rooms he’d explored earlier. He was just about to excuse himself when Shockwave spoke.

“Your explanation is illogical.”

First Aid hunched his shoulders. Shockwave continued.

“You are an Autobot. The wellbeing of Decepticons should be irrelevant to your concerns.”

First Aid’s head jerked up at this.

“But- I’m a doctor! I wouldn’t refuse treatment on the basis that we’re not from the same faction.”

“Why not? A dead Decepticon is one less Decepticon fighting against you.”

“That’s awful though. We’re all Cybertronian. So many of us are already dead…”

“And many more must still die before this war is over.”

… He was just so deadpan. Far more than anyone else on this ship, Shockwave frightened him. His dispassion, his apathy towards the living- it was terrifyingly alien to First Aid.

“I don’t want that…” he murmured.

Shockwave watched him with his single, scarlet optic for a few sparkbeats. Then he reached for him, catching him by the shoulder.

“Come.”

First Aid stumbled as Shockwave pulled him into his lab abruptly. Behind him, Laserbeak shrieked, a splitting cry that had his audials ringing. Shockwave raised his gun as the minicon swooped towards them.

“You know you are not welcome here,” Shockwave said. His words were met with an angry avian squawk, but Laserbeak pulled up from his sharp dive and wheeled away from Shockwave’s gun. Shockwave lowered it after another moment, then shut the door. First Aid heard it lock with a series of clicks that made his fuel tank sink.

It had been a mistake to come.

“I had planned on summoning you later, but we can do this now.”

Shockwave steered him away from the door and further into his lab. First Aid saw the circuit slab he’d been strapped to the day before. It was occupied now. He turned his face away. The occupant was far from whole. He hoped Shockwave would lead him past the mutilated Vehicon.

Shockwave did not.

“He’s still online,” the scientist remarked as he stopped in front of the circuit slab. First Aid forced himself to look. Forced himself not to cringe at the sight. The Vehicon’s head had been blown apart, likely by an ion blast, but the majority of his trauma had not been earned in battle. His entire chassis was flayed open, exposed to the laboratory’s strange light. Not all his internals were intact. A closer look at his spark chamber confirmed Shockwave’s words- his spark was weak, but the small, diminished sphere still cast a sickly glow.

He’d seen more dire injuries during his time at Delphi. His fuel tank twisted not for this horror, but for the fact that they’d been inflicted by the mech who stood next to him now.

“The head injury was beyond my ability to repair, nor do I typically care to expand so much effort on a Vehicon.”

First Aid drifted towards the brutalized mech. So, Shockwave was in the process of parting him out. Cannibalizing his frame for valuable bits and pieces. Finding the controls for the circuit slab, First Aid lowered it to his height, then skimmed his hands around the rim of the mech’s exposed spark chamber.

He hadn’t even known that Vehicons possessed sparks. Everyone spoke of them as if they were drones.

“This is cruel.”

“Will you fix him?” Shockwave asked.

“Will you let me?”

First Aid turned his head to look at him.

“There are others. It does not matter to me if I lose this one’s use,” Shockwave replied.

First Aid clenched his hands.

“Neither you nor Knock Out would have even tried?”

“Vehicons were built for service. They are expendable. Entertaining sentiment towards them is illogical.”

“They’ve got sparks. How can you say that?”

“Will you fix him?” Shockwave repeated. First Aid looked over his prospective patient. No… his patient.

“I swear to Primus I’ll try. Just bring me back the parts you stole from him.”

“I look forward to watching you work,” Shockwave said before vanishing to retrieve the parts. First Aid turned his attention back to the Vehicon.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, then reached for his fragmented head. Even comatose, on some level, his spark would remember the trauma.

He’d repaired processors a few times, to varying degrees of success. As difficult a teacher as Pharma had been, his skill as a medic was peerless. The confounding factor was, quite frankly, that they’d rarely had the time. It was a lengthy process, from processor repair to post-surgical rehabilitation.

It had been so long since he’d worked with a patient this damaged. It was a daunting task that awaited him. The fact that his patient still clung to life while in a coma and missing several organs boded well for his recovery, however. If his spark was this tenacious, there was a chance he could come back from this.

By the time Shockwave returned, he’d managed to locate and get the Vehicon hooked up to life support systems. Shockwave reviewed his setup as he placed the pilfered parts in a tray beside the circuit slab.

“Have you done this before?”

“Yes.”

“What is the success rate for this operation?”

 “Variable.”

“Generally low, I take it?”

First Aid hesitated.

“How much did you see of my research?”

“I cannot say. Navigating a processor without guidance is inefficient. My probing was limited.”

“Did you see my work with biomech?”

“Yes.”

“This is related.”

First Aid swapped the tips of his fingers for scalpels. With as much delicacy as he could manage, he disconnected the Vehicon’s processor from his neural stem.

“We don’t know how to create viable biomech from scratch, but Cybertronian self-repair systems are incredibly hardy. As long as the spark persists, a doctor with sufficient skill and resources could theoretically bring someone back from processor failure.

At Delphi, Pharma pioneered a technique to salvage failing biomech. As long as enough of the structural integrity of the biomech is maintained, it is possible to induce regeneration via a nutrient bath of energon, key protoform compositional elements, and a concentrated dose of repair nanites. It works best with nanites cultured from the patient’s own system. It can be a very effective method, but it takes time and… time was a luxury we didn’t often have.”

First Aid turned the Vehicon’s processor over in his hands, inspecting it. The Vehicon’s helm had taken most of the damage, but a good section was missing from his processor.

“I would imagine success rates differ between types of biomech.”

“Oh, yes. Some regenerate far more readily than others.”

“Processors?”

First Aid glanced over at Shockwave.

“As I said, success is variable. Given that they are part of Rossum’s Trinity, and thus connected directly to the spark, transformation cogs and processors are the most difficult to repair. Sometimes they don’t come back the same.”

“But the repaired biomech is fully functional?”

“Again, it depends on the structural integrity. Nanites interpret a CNA blueprint to reconstruct damaged tissue. But if too much of the original structure is missing, it becomes difficult for the nanites to rebuild. The tissue doesn’t form right. It collapses.”

“And would you estimate the integrity of this Vehicon’s processor to fall below an acceptable threshold for regeneration?”

First Aid looked back down at the processor he held. A good 40% of it was missing. The best success rates occurred when biomech was at least 80% intact.

“It’s… well below the ideal level, but not unsalvageable. However, you must understand… he needs to go into cryo stasis or stay hooked up to life support here. If you want to observe my work, he must be kept alive for the time it takes to regenerate his processor.”

“How long?” Shockwave asked without an ounce of hesitation.

“A few days… five. A decacycle at most. I know… that seems like a lot,” First Aid replied. He looked up at Shockwave nervously, anticipating rejection. It was time and resource intensive. It was why they’d so rarely treated this level of trauma at Delphi. Too often, these patients slipped away before they could even begin to help.

“Your request is reasonable. I wish to document this process for my own research,” Shockwave replied.

Tension ebbed from First Aid’s frame.

“Ok. First things first, I’m going to put him back together. I’ll need to culture his native nanites for the regenerative bath. Could you get that started for me? If you have any other processors, ah…. lying…. around, I could replicate the degree of damage to it and show you the difference between native and clinical grade nanite repair.”

“I already have cultures. Nanites are identical across Vehicon frame-types.”

“Oh. Well, I guess just sit tight for a little bit then.”

At that moment, there came an insistent banging from the lab door. First Aid startled.

“Who-?”

“Soundwave.”

For the first time, he detected some inflection in Shockwave’s typically level tone.

“Stay here. I will handle this… situation.”

“Hang on, if it’s Soundwave, maybe I should talk to-”

“No,” Shockwave said, interrupting him. This time, there was no mistaking the edge of displeasure in his voice. “If you want to save this mech, you will continue your work, doctor.”

He did not know if it was a threat or a statement, but as Shockwave walked across the lab to answer the door, First Aid made a decision.

“I promise, I’m going to do my best,” he murmured to his patient, then reached for the parts Shockwave had brought him.

It was difficult to put the situation Shockwave was “handling” completely out of mind, however. The scientist did not speak loudly, but his voice still carried.

“Leave, spymaster. We are occupied.”

Soundwave’s hammering did not relent. Instead, it grew louder and more forceful.

“Battering down my door will make little difference.”

The din stopped, if only for a moment. Then First Aid heard the door locks click as they disengaged. It slid open. First Aid ventured a glance up from his surgery. Soundwave stood on the other side of the door, held at bay by Shockwave’s usual threat of a blast to the spark chamber.

“As you can see, he is fine,” Shockwave said. First Aid raised a hand to Soundwave in greeting, his fingers glowing faint blue with energon.

Soundwave shook his head, gesturing for First Aid to come. Reluctantly, First Aid shook his head in turn. Soundwave’s posture grew rigid. He gestured again more urgently.

“Leave, or I will make you,” Shockwave threatened.

There was a tense moment as Shockwave and Soundwave stared each other down. Then Soundwave turned on his heel and stalked away. Shockwave closed the door. The locks re-engaged. When the scientist spoke, his tone was once again dispassionate.

“Resume. I wish to begin the second phase of this experiment as soon as possible.”

First Aid ducked his head and got back to work.

 

He left Shockwave’s lab late that evening, feeling strangely calm. It wasn’t a state of mind he ever would have expected to find himself walking away with after spending several hours in Shockwave’s company. But guiding another scientist through his process, grounding himself in medical work again… the familiarity of these actions was soothing. And by the end of his time with Shockwave, he’d gotten permission to set up an independent medibay.

It was hard to believe. Not twenty four hours ago, he’d had Shockwave rooting through his processor, and now they were on terms that could almost be considered cordial- if he wasn’t an Autobot war prisoner, or if Shockwave did cordial.

He managed to find his way back to Soundwave’s habsuite without taking a wrong turn. Entering quietly, he saw the mech stationed at his computer terminal. The screens flickered off before he could make anything out. Soundwave swiveled to face him.

“Hi.”

Soundwave made no gesture of greeting. He sat and watched him, visor blank. His silence felt heavier than usual. Wasn’t that something? Meaningful silence. And yet, it really did seem different in some intangible way.

“I’ve upset you, haven’t I?” he asked.

Soundwave remained unresponsive. First Aid fidgeted, lowering his optics.

“I did what I thought was right. I don’t think that merits an apology.”

Soundwave finally moved, reaching for something on his desk. A datapad. The datapad he’d left him earlier, if he had to hazard a guess. He picked it up, holding it out towards First Aid and tapping it with a slender finger. First Aid shrugged.

“I don’t really do inaction well.”

A soft sigh escaped the spymaster. He stood, abandoning his station and crossing the room. First Aid stopped himself from brushing Soundwave’s hands away when they skimmed over his frame. His inspection was measured; he seemed to be searching for something. Whatever it was, he did not find it. Soundwave’s hands settled on his shoulders, and he herded him gently but firmly towards the berth.

“I’m fine, Soundwave,” First Aid said as he was seated.

Soundwave pressed something into his hands. First Aid looked down at the energon cube he was suddenly holding. Blinked as his body remembered all at once that he hadn’t eaten since… since he wasn’t quite sure when. His fuel tank made a vicious sound, and wincing, First Aid retracted his faceplate. He tipped the cube back, swallowing the energon in greedy gulps. He wiped his lips when he finished, conscious of how quickly he’d drunk it.

“Thanks,” he muttered. Soundwave took the empty container from him. It vanished back into subspace. First Aid leaned backwards, hands resting on his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling.

What was he doing? Now that he was here again, he felt himself losing energy. He remembered how he’d woken up, how much strength it had taken to leave. He hated how powerless this place made him feel. It was safe, but sedentary. The nicest of cells. His processor rebelled at the idea.

Soundwave’s fingers brushed one of his cheeks. First Aid reflexively grabbed them, neural net prickling at the unexpected contact. He’d forgotten to reactivate his faceplate. It snapped closed nanokliks later.

“Don’t do that,” he said, looking up at Soundwave.

|?|

“Personal preference.”

|Why?|

“I don’t have to justify it to you. Why do you hide your face?”

Soundwave’s visor went dark. He pulled his fingers out of First Aid’s grip and looked away. After a few sparkbeats, First Aid did too.

It was an awkward situation, made worse by the fact that he knew Soundwave could feel his emotional state as well. He wondered what else the empath could read. When they’d interfaced, Soundwave’s interpretation of sensory data had felt… synesthetic. A mix of color, sound, texture, and taste. It had been disorienting, but not unpleasant. It was clear Soundwave processed a great deal more input than the average mech. How he was not overwhelmed by it, First Aid did not know.

As if picking up on his train of thought- which was entirely possible -Soundwave turned toward him again. His fingers found one of First Aid’s data ports and traced its edges, then flicked it open. Divining his intent, First Aid grabbed his hand again.

“That wasn’t an invitation,” he said, optics narrowing behind his visor.

Soundwave freed his hand, then laced his fingers through First Aid’s, pinning his arm above his head. First Aid coiled, drawing his knees to his chest defensively.

“Frag off!” he spat.

Soundwave stopped. After a moment, he withdrew, letting go of him. First Aid continued to glare for several kliks. He did not uncurl. Eventually, he rolled over onto his side, facing away from Soundwave.

He felt sparksore.

“I want my own room.”

He didn’t get a response, nor did he expect one. First Aid offlined his optics and continued.

“I want my own room. I want my own berth. I don’t want to be here, but I am, and now I’m stuck here. I don’t even know if my teammates are ok. I can’t contact them. If they’re hurt or dead, it’s my fault. But it’s also yours, because you’re the reason I’m here. And I hate it. I hate that you can just spirit me away and then pretend like everything is fine. I hate you and your stupid concern and the fact you’re treating me like I mean something to you when I don’t! You can’t let them break into my head and then act like I’m not a prisoner! That’s not how it works!”

He paused to gather himself. It was a flood of words that poured from him, and he was nowhere near finished. But as he spoke again, they twisted. His _thoughts_ twisted, dredging up truths he’d ignored as he’d crusaded for a medibay that day. They caught up with him now though. His anger shifted from external to internal as disgust coiled in his fuel tank.

“And here I am betraying them again. I should be trying to find a way to escape or reach out to them, but instead, I’m working with Shockwave to set up a medibay. Primus! It wasn’t enough that I gave up the base coordinates to him just yesterday, I spent a day willingly teaching him how to regenerate damaged biomech so I can save a Vehicon! What is wrong with me? I’m promising my time to a Decepticon. It’s so much time. I can’t- it’s going to take decacycles. I’m going to be here for decacyles, and if I try to escape before then, this Vehicon is going to die because no one else cares. But he’s my patient. I promised… I promised I’d try to help him. I can’t just turn my back on that. But I can’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong here. I need to get out... I need to get home… I need-”

His throat closed up, and his frame shuddered with a sob. First Aid covered his face with his hands, feeling heat and moisture build behind his optics.

Soundwave picked him up then. His cables drew the covers back, and First Aid was deposited gently in the middle of the berth. Soundwave pulled the blankets over both of them as he lay down, folding himself around him as he had the night before. First Aid didn’t scoot away this time. He knew it was pointless to try.

“This is exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about,” he snuffled.

Soundwave’s hands found his and rubbed them soothingly. Resentment surged through First Aid. He did not want to be soothed. He did not want to accept the comfort of another frame humming against his, or of another spark beating softly against his spine. But as they lay together, he found himself unwinding anyways. Because despite his anger, it was comforting.

When Soundwave finally let go of his hands, he was a sleepy puddle. First Aid stirred slightly, but ignored the small movements Soundwave made, until he felt the snick of a cable jacking into his data port. He didn’t even have a chance to tense up before their awareness was enmeshed again.

Soundwave pulled him under fast and deep, smothering his rage until he felt amorphous and numb. He breathed new color into him then, shaping his pliant sense of self into something calmer. It was a strange feeling, knowing his frame of mind was artificially imposed. First Aid knew he should be furious, but that emotion had been suppressed beyond his ability to access it.

“Was this really necessary?”

A stream of data flowed from Soundwave to him- thoughts and feelings, even snippets of images. His spark wobbled as it echoed the small swell of affection Soundwave had felt for him waking up that morning and seeing him there, tucked against his frame. Annoyance as First Aid left the habsuite against his advice, his progress tracked through Laserbeak’s video feed, followed by amusement and curiosity as he explored the Nemesis secondhand with him.

_I can show you what the datapads hold if you wish. They are physical copies of my archives_ , Soundwave thought to him, his voice a whisper in First Aid’s mind as he watched himself sift through the boxes in storage.

And then there he was, confronting Knock Out and Breakdown. He read a mix of emotions from Soundwave, but the strongest of them was pride. Pride for how he’d stood up to Knock Out; that determined fire he both loved and despaired over- the same fire that had burned in the two he’d lost. It was a stubbornness that had nearly gotten them killed on many occasions.

Underpinning the pride was worry. It intensified as First Aid retraced his steps to Shockwave’s lab. And… he was not the only one. First Aid felt the impression of a third processor join in through Soundwave’s link. A brighter, slender thread of concern that wove through the darkness of Soundwave’s growing apprehension. Laserbeak.

The minicon’s concern turned shrill when Shockwave pulled him into his lab, flaring strident and orange. Soundwave shared his alarm. Between the two of them, First Aid’s awareness dissolved into a flurry of panic and genuine fear. Shockwave’s lab was the only part of the ship where he did not have eyes and ears, and they were roughly equivalent in rank. He could not protect him from Shockwave the same way he could from other mechs, and Shockwave had notoriously little regard for the lives of his own faction members, to say nothing of how he treated Autobots. If he decided to use First Aid as an experimental subject…

Relief and anger swept through him as he saw himself through Soundwave’s optics again, a small red and white mech bent over the mangled body of a Vehicon. The surgeon, thank Primus, not the one lying on a circuit slab, spark glimmering dull and low in his exposed chassis. Unharmed. Useful to Shockwave as something more than fodder. Shockwave’s rare displeasure made that clear.

It was the only reason he’d walked away, as difficult as it had been to leave him there. He had work. If he could avoid fighting Shockwave, he would. But he watched for him. All the rest of that day, he’d watched for him to return, even after he retired from his work station to his habsuite.

And then he finally did. Safe. Unscathed. Well.

Soundwave released him from the thrall of his memories. First Aid surfaced again slowly, feeling the false sense of calm Soundwave had imposed on him begin to thaw. When his emotions returned- his genuine emotions –he was still upset, but he couldn’t muster the same degree of anger. He’d been forced to empathize, and that understanding tempered his mood.

Soundwave stood across from him, waiting for his response. First Aid clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to gather himself. When he spoke, he managed to keep his tone level.

“I don’t know why, but you seem to care about my wellbeing, so hear this: don’t ever interface with me without my consent again. I don’t care how important you think it is. This wasn’t ok.”

He sensed Soundwave’s reluctance, skimmed the surface murmur of his thoughts. This method of communication was what Soundwave found most natural.

“Well I don’t. It’s invasive.”

“Then… share,” Soundwave said, finally speaking.

“Share? Share what?”

“You.”

Soundwave blurred as he reached for him, and First Aid felt a question bloom through him. Soundwave wanted him to guide for a change, if he was willing.

First Aid hesitated, then accepted his request.

Somehow, it felt more intimate to draw another into his mind. It was a gradual process. He did not have Soundwave’s experience. Soundwave, to his credit, was very patient. Whenever First Aid faltered, he hummed encouragement across their connection, until something finally clicked. Their synapses aligned.

The part of him that was Soundwave thrummed with pleasure. All of him glowed, delighted by his success. But he remembered how disorienting that sense of union was. First Aid reached for Soundwave’s threads, loosening them slightly from his own.

He felt Soundwave’s amusement. He did not find this entanglement as overwhelming as First Aid.

_Show me_ , he thought.

And First Aid did.

 

Disconnecting later, he was once again struck by the jarring emptiness of his own processor. But this time at least, the interface did not cut out abruptly. Soundwave unplugged when First Aid was ready, allowing him to end the session on his terms.

It… had been pleasant. He’d shown Soundwave what the spymaster hadn’t been able to see- the time he’d spent in Shockwave’s lab. Soundwave had taken a surprising amount of interest in his work. Questions led to other memories, other scenes from his life. First Aid mapped out his research for Soundwave in ways he couldn’t with Shockwave and felt his enthusiasm mirrored and amplified. Words, it turned out, were a very poor form of communication. It was little wonder Soundwave preferred interfacing to speaking.

But… it was still a very personal thing. First Aid did not feel right doing it so casually.

Except, it wasn’t really casual, was it?

Soundwave was still curled around him. First Aid shifted.

No. It wasn’t. Sharing a berth with Soundwave wasn’t something he had control over, but he could not allow interfacing before recharge to become a ritual.

He felt Soundwave’s visor press against the back of his helm. A soft puff of air escaped the Decepticon’s vents.

“Don’t think I’m any less upset about being here. This is not where I belong,” First Aid whispered to him.

One of Soundwave’s hands found his and tapped a word into his palm.

_.:Goodnight:._

First Aid’s lips thinned, but as he had the night before, he relented.

“Goodnight,” he said, then shut his optics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I'd like to thank everyone who left me a comment last chapter. I was and still am truly overwhelmed by all the thoughtful feedback I got. You all keep me on my toes and really motivate me to write my best. I can't overstate how much that means to me.
> 
> This chapter ended up surprisingly long. A lot of the content was a surprise to me too, since I wrote it without a very detailed outline, which was both exciting and a little terrifying. Chalk some of that spontaneity up to NaNo. It's always good to remember that stories are living entities in their own right. 
> 
> I tagged this chapter with "dubcon hardlining" instead of "dubcon interfacing" because of the connotation interfacing has. Again, I would like to reiterate that this story is not exactly "safe," although I think it will not be quite as dark as some of you are anticipating. I like to play with dark themes, yes, but I don't necessarily write gratuitous misery-porn.
> 
> Anyways, I'll see you next month with chapter 8. Thank you all for reading!
> 
> P.S. I love science. Can you tell? 8)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megatron's speech comes from Exodus, a novel considered canon in the Aligned (TFP) continuity. It was not written by me.

Soundwave was gone when he woke. So, for that matter, was Laserbeak. He searched the entire room for the minicon just to be sure, but it seemed Soundwave had left him unguarded.

Well, not exactly. He now knew Soundwave had a network of cameras installed throughout the Nemesis. The fact Laserbeak wasn’t with him meant very little ultimately- the spymaster was still keeping watch.

A datapad had been left on the pillow next to him. He retrieved it and turned it on now. Soundwave’s message was brief, advising him to stay put in the habsuite as he had the day before. However, anticipating his lack of compliance this time, Soundwave included his personal comm frequency and a map of the Nemesis. First Aid closed out of the message and pulled it up. It was multi-dimensional and very detailed. A small, blue dot indicated his current position. First Aid admired Soundwave’s gift. It was very useful; this way, he could explore the ship without getting lost. But… it suggested a certain measure of complacency. With this information, he could easily locate a communication terminal and get a message out to someone. It seemed too easy.

First Aid bit his lip as he scanned the map for the nearest access point. Now was the perfect opportunity to get in contact with his teammates, but surely there was a catch? Surely this was some kind of trap? Soundwave wasn’t a negligent mech.

And then he remembered: it didn’t matter.  He’d trapped himself here through a sense of obligation. As long as at least one patient was relying on him, he wouldn’t leave.

First Aid stared at the map. He gauged the distance between the blue pixel that represented him and the enhanced glow of the nearest terminal. It would take him ten minutes to reach, less if he drove.

_I made a promise…_

But… he owed it to his team to find out what had happened to them, and to let them know what had happened to him. Contacting them didn’t mean he would escape the same day. It was just a message.

First Aid left the habsuite and set a course for the terminal. He walked towards it unhurriedly, not wishing to draw Soundwave’s attention. The less time he gave him to respond, the better. After all, he could have been heading anywhere aboard the ship. As he passed the mysterious rooms Laserbeak had kept him away from the day before, he thumbed over their descriptions on the map. He understood immediately why the minicon had been so keen to shut down his investigation once he read the names of their owners. First Aid walked faster, spark beating a nervous tattoo in his chest. Knowing Megatron and Starscream both kept personal quarters so close to Soundwave’s raised the possibility of running into them. It wasn’t a prospect he found comforting.

It made sense now why he hadn’t run into anyone walking around this part of the ship. It was far removed from the main command bridge and other common areas where crewmembers would work or socialize. It meant that he likely wouldn’t run into anyone this time either. And he didn’t. First Aid reached the comm station unhindered. Plugging in, he accessed the ship’s network, navigating it as quickly as he could. He’d almost managed to close in on Ratchet’s personal hailing frequency when the terminal crackled with electricity. He felt a small jolt shudder through him before the screen went dark. First Aid stared at it in despair, knowing who was responsible but awed by the speed with which he’d remotely deactivated the terminal.

The screen brightened again as it turned back on. First Aid waited for it to boot, then grimaced at the message that greeted him.

**CONTACT IS FORBIDDEN**

The words lingered on screen for a few kliks, then disappeared.

This wasn’t going to work. Soundwave was too vigilant. He was going to have to find another way to reach them somehow. First Aid dragged a frustrated hand down his face and disconnected.

What now? He didn’t want to return to the habsuite, but he couldn’t exactly socialize with the other Decepticons.

_I could find a good location to set up the new medibay_

First Aid looked down at his map again, thinking hard. Accessibility was as important as physical space. Which meant placing it near entry points, since injury most commonly occurred outside the ship. Somewhere close to the bridge or, conversely, the brig seemed logical.

No, not near the brig. Shockwave’s lab was also located in the belly of the ship. He did not want that negative association to taint this new medibay. Although it would be easier to borrow supplies. Shockwave had greater access to equipment. In case of an emergency, it might be good to have quick access to ancillary support.

_But what kind of support is Shockwave, really?_

First Aid pulled up a cross section of the top level of the ship and hunted for likely rooms. He made note of a few- unlabeled spaces that did not seem to be in use. It was far to travel, but if there was one thing he had in spades, it was time.

His new route took him through more densely inhabited sections of ship. He squared his shoulders when he encountered his first pair of Vehicons. They slowed as he passed them, but did not try to heckle him, or even engage. In fact, the more of them he passed, the more First Aid began to feel like a spectacle. If they were speaking when he approached, they fell silent, their visored faces turning to follow him as he walked by. Eventually, First Aid took to staring at the floor. That way at least, he didn’t have to see the way they watched him.

He wondered what information they’d been given about him. Certainly, they’d been instructed to leave him alone. On one hand, it was a relief to know that he would not be harassed, but the complete lack of any type of interaction was alienating. He felt a bit like a data ghost, drifting intangibly through the Nemesis.

The first room he checked was untenable. The space was far too small. It was the same with the next room as well. First Aid looked over his map, applying size estimates to the remainder of his potentials. He crossed three of them from his list, then tried again.

It took him seven more tries before he found a space that called to him. The main room was of a modest size, but it connected to others, giving him more total floor space. The location wasn’t bad either, though he would have preferred it to be a little closer to the main bridge. But he could definitely work with this. First Aid stood in the central room and shuttered his optics, visualizing the layout. One of the back rooms could serve as a long term recovery wing. Another would make for good medical storage space. There was even room for an office, although… perhaps that was a bit frivolous. What did he need with an office?

_This isn’t your home, ‘Aid_

Although he’d banned Knock Out from it in a fit of pique, he needed to turn the medibay over to him when it was operational. It wouldn’t really be his. It had just been very satisfying to yell at the other medic at the time. Not the most professional moment, though. He didn’t look forward to broaching conversation with Knock Out again in the future.

His audials suddenly chimed with an incoming comm. First Aid frowned. It couldn’t be Soundwave, he didn’t speak. But who else would be contacting him? Who else was in range who knew his personal frequency? Hesitantly, he answered the comm ping.

The voice that greeted him was at once recognizable.

“Doctor?”

Shockwave. Of course. He supposed the scientist had skimmed it from his processor with… whatever else. First Aid sighed.

“What is it?”

“Come down to my lab.”

“When?”

“Now.”

It was an abrupt request, but he needed to visit Shockwave to acquire supplies for the medibay anyways. Now was as good a time as any.

“Alright. I’m up near the main bridge, so it’ll take me some time to get down to you,” he replied.

There was a pause of several kliks as Shockwave went silent. When he spoke up again, First Aid detected a trace of impatience in his tone.

“I will open a ground bridge to your location.”

“That’s really not necessary-”

“Walking would be an inefficient use of your time. Stand by.”

A ground bridge burst to life a few meters away from him. First Aid eyed it, envious. The Decepticons had enough energon to waste on trivialities like this.

“I’m waiting, doctor.”

“Give me a moment, I’m on my way,” First Aid said, feeling slightly heckled as he disconnected and walked into the green tunnel. It spat him out in Shockwave’s lab moments later.

 “So, what’s the occasion?” he asked as the bridge closed behind him.

“No occasion,” Shockwave replied, “A proposition. We share a mutual interest in furthering Cybertronian research. I have determined that you possess sufficient scientific rigor and drive to enhance my work rather than hinder it. Your medical perspective and skill is of value to me.”

“Wait… are you asking me to work with you?”

“Affirmative.”

First Aid’s processor blanked. He honestly wasn’t sure how to respond. Caution seemed prudent for now.

“I… am flattered, but… what would that entail?” he hedged.

“Your assistance,” Shockwave said, “As well as your participation.”

That, he didn’t like the sound of.

“Participation?”

“There are advantages and disadvantages to working primarily with Vehicon subjects. Their identical frames reduce the range of confounding factors that may account for differing results between tests. However, this also limits the generalizability of my research. Your inclusion would expand my data set.”

“You want me to let you experiment on me.”

“That is the idea.”

First Aid cycled air through his vents, stunned by the bizarre situation he found himself in. That this was really something _Shockwave_ was asking of him. He could have laughed.

“Absolutely not.”

Shockwave’s antennae flicked backwards.

“Your rejection is not unexpected, but allow me to reframe my request-”

“It takes a certain kind of madness to agree to something like that,” First Aid interrupted.

“You are not the only one researching how to grow biomech.”

_That_ caught his attention.

“It is an ongoing project of mine,” Shockwave explained, “I perfected cloning some time ago, but regrowing individual organs has proved more complex. I have not yet achieved a successful transplant.”

“…transplant?”

First Aid felt his world shiver to a halt. Shockwave pressed on.

“My research is further along than yours, although you were on the right path from what I observed.”

“You’ve grown biomech!”

“Not functional biomech. Not yet.”

First Aid swayed. It was too much to absorb.

_Shockwave has grown biomech._

He wanted to know how. He _needed_ to know how. His processor screamed and his fingers twitched as curiosity consumed him. But access to that research came at such a heavy cost. First Aid despaired as he wavered between two impossible choices.

“You will endure no permanent harm. I do not make this offer lightly.”

_Oh…_ First Aid trembled at Shockwave’s assurance. He would not make his decision lightly either.

“You… will show me all your biomech research notes?” he asked.

“Those and others.”

It was unfair. The lure of knowledge was so powerful. Shockwave was one of the greatest scientific minds Cybertron had ever produced. How could he refuse such an offer?

But how could he accept?

“I… need time to think about it,” he said.

“Do not take too long.”

“It’s not exactly a snap decision.”

“That it is a decision at all is a rarely afforded privilege.”

That was true. Shockwave could have easily forced him into it. But he wanted more from him than the raw use of his frame. He wanted his assistance. His mind, bent to research.

It was such a strange proposition.

“If I say yes… and I’m not saying I will, I have a condition. I must approve of the experiments you conduct on me. I don’t want to contribute to any research that would bring about harm, whether directly or indirectly,” First Aid finally said.

“One cannot always predict what will come out of a particular line of research.”

“You know what I mean, Shockwave. Don’t try to deflect.”

Shockwave appeared to consider his request. After a long pause, the scientist nodded.

“Your condition is inconvenient, but acceptable. Do we have an agreement?”

Shockwave extended his hand. Against his better judgment, First Aid accepted it. Shockwave’s large hand closed around his, sealing the informal contract.

“Good. We’ll begin tomorrow. I have things I must set up today.”

“Is that all you called me down for?”

“It was my primary reason. If you agreed, I planned on acquainting you with the pertinent literature.”

_So soon!_ Although it made sense. Catching him up to speed on his research in advance of working together meant a smoother transition into the work. It was just exciting, knowing how close he was to unravelling a puzzle he’d been working on for some time.

“I’m eager to see it,” he said, “But if you do not need me for anything, I have something to ask as well. I picked a location for the medibay, and I need to redistribute some of your lab’s supplies and equipment.”

“Where are you locating it?”

“Up near the main deck.”

“Where I bridged you from?”

“Yes.”

“It is far from my lab. The location does not seem logical if you will be splitting your time between them.”

“How would you describe your relationships with the other mechs aboard the Nemesis?”

“Extraneous.”

First Aid smiled tersely behind his faceplate.

“That’s why I want to place the medibay there. Your lab serves a very different purpose. I don’t want the two conflated. If prospective patients view it as an extension of your lab, they may not come.”

“I would like to emphasize that this project of yours is just that- a project. The existence of your medibay is predicated on my approval. Your work with me comes first. Keep that in mind as you set it up.”

His reaction was swift and instinctive, but First Aid managed to bite back the words that sprang to his vocalizer. He could not actually voice them. He could not actually say no to this, as much as it irked him to say yes. It was one obstacle after another…

“I understand. But I’m still locating the medibay in the space I picked out,” First Aid said.

“If you insist,” Shockwave replied, “Now, what do you need?”

 

First Aid reviewed his newly stocked medical supply room with a measure of pride. Though most of it was still boxed up, it was an enviable stock. Back at the Autobot base and aboard Sentinel’s ship, he’d kept such careful track of what they had available. Certain resources were finite- when they ran out, that was it. But there was just so much of everything here. If someone came in with serious injuries, he wouldn’t have to run a mental tally on what supplies he had available and could afford to expend in treating them.

It was exciting. But as he unboxed and began to organize his supplies, his excitement waned, replaced by sobriety. It was nice to have them, but they were wasted here. Nucleon? He hadn’t had access to nucleon for stellar cycles. Propex? It was a dwindling stock. Nanite boosters, medical grade energon, drams of active, swathes and swathes of mesh… how much of this did the Decepticons even go through? It would have been such a boon to the Autobots. Seeing so much plenty left him with a sour feeling in his fuel tank.

Absorbed as he was, he did not notice when Soundwave arrived in his usual, quiet way. First Aid saw movement in the corner of his vision and turned his head just as Soundwave rested a hand on his shoulder in greeting. In the other, he held an energon cube.

“Oh, thank you,” First Aid said as Soundwave offered him the fuel. He drank it more sedately this time while Soundwave looked around the room, surveying the scattered piles of boxes and materials.

“It’s the medibay, or it will be. It’s a work in progress. I got medical supplies from Shockwave today, but I’m going to need help transporting some of the bigger equipment, so I think I’ll probably tackle that tomorrow.”

Soundwave nodded.

|Ground bridge?|

“Oh, probably. I may enlist someone else though, since I don’t think Shockwave will help me. He’s not very happy that I’m placing the medibay so far from his lab.”

First Aid grimaced, taking another sip of his energon. The Vehicons were his best bet, but he didn’t know how they would react to being asked. He had no authority over them. Arguably, his position on this ship was even lower than theirs. Would they resent his request?

Soundwave’s visor flashed, catching his attention.

|Why?|

“Why what?”

|Shockwave: upset?|

“Ah. Yes…”

… What was a good way to explain this? Soundwave wasn’t going to be pleased with the deal he’d made. First Aid cleared his vocalizer, staring down at his energon.

“He… approached me with an offer earlier. He wants me to assist him with his research. He thinks it would be more efficient if I located my medibay closer to him, since I’ll be spending time with him. I insisted on placing it here though."

There was a brief pause, then both of Soundwave’s hands were on his shoulders as he leaned in close, visor brightening with urgent words.

|Reject him|

“I already accepted his offer.”

The words did not fade from his visor. Soundwave gave him a small, punctuated shake. Some of First Aid’s energon sloshed out of its cube and onto his hand. He frowned at the waste.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. This is a thing that’s happening. I’m working with Shockwave.”

Soundwave’s fingers curled, pressing harder. First Aid got the distinct impression that he wanted to wrap them around his throat.

|Stop this|

|Dangerous|

|Don’t be stupid|

“He promised there wouldn’t be any permanent damage…” First Aid muttered.

Soundwave went rigid. This time, he shook him more forcefully. Energon splashed around First Aid’s feet.

|No!|

|Forbidden!|

“Stop it! You’re making me spill!”

Soundwave stopped, but his words did not.

|Idiot!|

|Stupid!|

“Shut up! I have my reasons!”

|Bad reasons|

“You wouldn’t know.”

|Doesn’t matter|

|Shockwave: disloyal|

|Untrustworthy|

“I don’t get the impression that many Decepticons _are_ particularly loyal or trustworthy,” First Aid snapped.

Soundwave froze, then stepped away. His visor went blank. After another moment, he shook his head and turned, walking out of the room. First Aid watched him leave, feeling dazed. He’d shut down so abruptly.

Looking down at his energon cube, he noted the small amount of fuel it still contained and the larger splash of blue staining the floor. But he could not bring himself to down the last of it. His appetite had fled. With a sigh, First Aid subspaced it, knelt, and began to clean up the spilled energon.

 

He lingered in the medibay. Long after he finished erecting storage shelves and meticulously arranging his supplies, he stayed behind, reading through some of the datapads Shockwave had given him. He sat on the floor, tucked away in a corner and surrounded by empty boxes that he’d stacked above his head. It wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement, but for the first time since Soundwave had brought him here, he had his own space again. It wasn’t something he wanted to give up. Eventually though, his need to recharge caught up with him. When his optics began to flicker, First Aid forced himself to stand and make the long trek back to Soundwave’s habsuite.

Soundwave was still awake when he arrived. He sat on his berth, several datapads scattered in front of him. When First Aid entered, his head lifted. He reached out to him, beckoning him over. First Aid stayed where he was. After a few kliks, Soundwave’s hand dropped, fingers curling in on themselves.

“What is all this?” First Aid asked, gesturing towards the datapads on the berth.

|History|

“Whose?”

|Decepticons|

“Why would I be interested in that?”

|Origin|

Now he stared at the datapads with open curiosity. For him, the Autobots and Decepticons had always existed. Their conflict had shaped his entire life. Pre-war Cybertron was a legend, something he’d never seen for himself. Even if it was from a Decepticon perspective, a glimpse of it was tantalizing. First Aid drifted over to the berth, climbing in across from Soundwave. He touched the datapads with reverent hands.

Soundwave handed him one. He turned it on.

The video that played was hard to understand at first. Mechs toiled in dim lighting, breaking metal and mineral alike. Miners. They were heavy frames, built for power and endurance.

“Clear out!” he heard a distant voice call. “The charges are set!”

“Why are you recording?” Another voice, far closer. The camera turned, framing an unfamiliar mech’s face. They looked irritated.

“Why not?”

“It’s pointless. The charges will blow as they’re supposed to, or they’ll bring the whole place down on our heads.”

“Yeah, yeah. It just, it feels like if someone else is watching, bad things won’t happen, you know? It’s a good luck ritual.”

“Who _else_ is watching these vid logs? No one up there cares.”

“Heh, yeah. Probably. Still gonna do it though.”

The mine suddenly lit up, and a shockwave rippled through it. The video went to chaos, blurring and spitting static as the camera input strained to translate the deafening roar that followed the explosion. When the literal and figurative dust cleared, First Aid saw that they were alright. His spark trembled, relieved for these nameless mechs.

The camera operator laughed, although they sounded a little shaky.

“See? What did I tell ya? Good luck.”

Their friend gave them an exasperated look, opening their mouth to speak.

And then someone screamed. There was another blur of motion as the camera operator turned, swearing low and rapid.

“Frag frag frag…”

The video cut out.

First Aid was still staring wide-eyed at the dark screen when Soundwave took it from him and handed him a different datapad. First Aid looked up at him.

“You said this was about the origin of the Decepticon movement.”

Soundwave nodded. First Aid looked back down at the new datapad. He bit his lip.

“I don’t… I don’t get it, what is this?”

Soundwave powered the datapad on.

Another video began to play.

This one was no personal recording. It seemed to have been filmed from the perspective of a security camera. Below him stretched a foundry, a grungy, industrial vista lit by the glow of molten metal. Workers poured vast vats of it into molds, casting a variety of parts. It looked like dangerous work. Foreboding clawed at his spark.

Though the mechs worked like automatons, more routine than people, they weren’t infallible. First Aid sucked in air through his vents as he saw one of the vats tip wrong, everything slowing for one, awful moment… and then…

He shut his optics before the video ended.

Soundwave removed the datapad from his hands and replaced it with another.

He saw a massive smelting pool this time. Bright orange-yellow and shimmering with heat. It reminded him too much of the scene he’d just shut out.

Beings clustered around the edges of the pool, broken things with missing limbs and twisted frames. No, not things. Mechs. When he realized what they were doing, he thrust the datapad away from him with a small cry of horror.

“No! This is awful! Why would you show me this?”

First Aid hugged himself. Those… those mechs shouldn’t have- they should have been in a med center, not…

Soundwave tilted First Aid’s face towards him.

|Important to know|

|Why we rebelled|

“Rebelled?”

|Against this|

|Against the castes|

“Castes? What castes?”

Soundwave handed him a fourth datapad. First Aid shook his head, dropping it.

“I won’t watch another.”

|No visuals|

|Only sound|

|My recording|

Soundwave picked up the datapad and held it out to him again. First Aid swallowed, feeling ill, but curiosity finally overtook him. He took it and turned it on. The Decepticon symbol flashed across the screen, then the recording began to play.

“In the beginning, I had no name.”

He recognized the voice that spoke immediately, although he sounded much younger. It was Megatron. First Aid looked up at Soundwave in surprise. Soundwave nodded. The voice continued.

“None of us did. We spoke to each other, down in the mines and the smelters, by electronic signature. We indicated each other by function. We assigned each other nicknames. I was D-16, named for the sector of the mine where I conducted demolition operations. And then I saw my first match in the gladiator pits.”

There was a pause. First Aid wished he could have seen what was happening. It was a historic moment, he could feel it in his spark. But at least the sound was very clear.

“That is where I first learned how life was for the lower castes that none of you ever take a nanoklik to consider. Each Cybertronian in that balcony has seen more Cybertronians die himself than the total of you in the rest of the gallery. Our lives are worthless!”

His voice rose, a thunderous cry of pain and outrage. First Aid thought he heard the echo of a gavel tapping. A court room?

“Until,” Megatron continued, voice lowering again to something quieter but no less intense, “Until we decided we had worth. We, the lower castes. We, the bots who die in subsurface mills and factories creating all of the things that you up here take for granted. We learned that we were individuals by facing off against each other in the gladiator pits in Slaughter City and Kaon and how did we know we were individuals?”

He paused again, perhaps to let the weight of his question sink in. He was… a marvelous orator. First Aid felt himself swept up in his speech. Even millions of years later, he hung on Megatron’s words.

“We knew we were individuals because as we killed our opponents in the ring, we saw in their deaths the realization that they were individuals. And so we knew we were, too. In killing, we understood life. In being the most disposable of commodities- a gladiator, whose remains are thrown into the junkpile to be picked over and scavenged, the healthy pieces sold off to brokers in Iacon and Crystal City –in being disposable, we discovered that we had value. Someone would pay us for what we did. Someone would cheer when we killed, and roar anger when we died.

So, if our lives had worth- even to others just as worthless as we were –then we had the right to names. And that is how the sequence of events started that led me to being here before you today. My friend Orion Pax, I thank you for helping our cause gain this platform; and to the High Council, I express my thanks for your time and attention.”

Soundwave reached across and tapped the datapad, turning off the recording. First Aid felt himself sway. It was a lot to take in. This recording… it changed so much about what he knew. No. In reality, it made him realize just how _little_ he knew.

Because Megatron’s words resonated with him. They called to something in him, some inherent sense of justice. After what Soundwave had shown him…

His spark ached. First Aid hunched his shoulders.

“So… there were castes?” he asked, looking up at Soundwave. Soundwave nodded.

“What… would I have been?”

|Scientific caste: high|

“Oh…”

He looked down again, at his hands, now curling subconsciously in the blankets beneath him. He let them go, smoothing them out again. Within moments, he was fidgeting with something else.

“You were a gladiator. I suppose you were also from a low caste, like Megatron. Although… I still don’t really understand it. I’ve never heard any of this before,” he mumbled.

Soundwave held something out to him. It wasn’t a datapad this time. First Aid stared at the hardline cable for several kliks before he took it.

He knew he shouldn’t, but his processor felt so messy. He desperately wanted clarity. If Soundwave could offer that, well… First Aid brushed the datapads aside and crawled closer to him, connecting the cable to one of his jacks. He felt Soundwave pull him into his lap before his awareness of the world around him retreated.

Almost immediately, he was swamped by sensory input. First Aid reeled. Colors and sounds and tastes and smells all swirled together in kaleidoscopic dissonance. He could barely think, and when he could, the thoughts and emotions of others clustered so thickly in his processor, it was difficult to separate his from theirs. He knew them better than he knew himself.

He was drowning. He was coming undone. Day by day, hour by hour, klik by fleeting nanoklik, it was a relentless clamor in his mind. And it was only growing stronger. He’d felt the murmur of their processors and sparks from the moment he’d onlined. Sibilant and strange, a conversation he couldn’t quite make out as his spark echoed the sense of who they were. He’d passed all their tests- countless tests, each of them blending one into the next –and been assigned a city, a guild, and a job in Cybertron’s grand hierarchy. Everyone, he’d been told, had a place. They were all of them moving parts in the machine of their illustrious civilization. Some parts were just more important than others.

On the basis of his mods and his most naturally assumed alt form, they’d placed him in the Data caste. He served at the Cybertron network command hub in Polyhex, working with the satellite arrays and monitoring transmissions. Middle caste. The work wasn’t glamorous, but it was what suited him best.

Or, it should have been, if not for the increasingly debilitating din of his processor.

He held it together as long as he could. He had to. He knew what happened to those who did not function: their frames were smelted down in the slag pools outside of Darkmount while the fragments of their sparks rejoined the Well. But it was overwhelming. Each day, he edged closer to a breakdown. Each day, he lost a little more of his tenuous sense of self. Until one day, his sanity finally broke.

He fled. He fled to one of the few places he knew he could hide from the network, from those who would drag him down to the pools, or worse- Crystal City. Kaon was harsher and more dangerous than Polyhex, but there at least he could exist- a wayward, aberrant spark.

And it was there he found the ones who finally grounded him. Ravage, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw; sparks already hardened by the cruel, industrial city-state. They saved him from his deteriorating mind, and when he was stable enough to pit himself against the gladiator circuit, he turned his abilities to another use, climbing higher and higher through the rankings until he finally met … him.

The strength and clarity of Megatron’s vision was compelling. Magnetic. For the first time, Soundwave almost felt a sense of calm, standing in the eye of his storm. Because he was a storm, full of power and rage and such a capability for change and destruction. He was a force of nature; more than a mech- a cause.

And Soundwave would follow him. Until the end, he would follow him, no matter where that led.

 

Coming back to himself, First Aid felt very small and very faint. After the intensity of Soundwave’s experience, it was hard not to.

They were still linked. He felt his own distress rebound through Soundwave, and then the mech’s arms were around him, stroking down his spine as he surrounded him in a soft, soothing cloud of calm. First Aid buried his face in Soundwave’s chest and clung to him, but felt guilty for seeking comfort when it was Soundwave’s trauma he’d experienced.

Soundwave hummed to him. _It’s alright._

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t alright. It felt like the world was disintegrating around him.

If this was the origin of the Decepticons, what were the Autobots fighting for?

“You should rest. It is much to absorb,” Soundwave murmured. First Aid nodded against him, but did not let go. He wasn’t ready to give up that solidity just yet, and the prospect of being alone with his thoughts was unbearable. They ate at him now. It would only worsen without Soundwave to steady him.

Soundwave tilted First Aid’s chin up, peering down at him. First Aid felt a glimmer of … something from him. It was difficult to identify the emotion.

“Stay?”

_Like this._ Connected. Wrapped up in another’s processor until reality stopped fraying and his frantic thoughts ebbed long enough for him to slide into recharge.

He shouldn’t have even considered it. He should have said no. But in that moment, it appealed to him.

“Ok.”

Joy swelled through Soundwave, and First Aid felt himself temporarily buoyed by it. It didn’t completely overshadow everything else, but it kept the worst at bay. Focusing externally helped.

After a while, a question flowed from Soundwave to him. Would he mind another? When he did not refuse, First Aid felt a new link open, ancillary to Soundwave’s, but also distinct. It was a presence he’d felt before. Laserbeak joined him wordlessly, a steady, clear hum of a processor. He perched on his shoulders as he had the day before, though it was a comforting buzz that tingled through him this time.

_Hello_ , he thought to the minicon.

_Hello_ , Laserbeak replied.

The impression of Laserbeak’s mind reminded him of flutes. He and Soundwave both shared a certain musicality of thought. It was nice. Between the two of them, his processor and spark both began to settle. He felt grounded, less liable to dissolve back into desperate uncertainty even if they let him go at that very moment. But they didn’t. They held on, threading him into their bond until it felt like he’d always been a part of it.

He wasn’t sure when he slipped into recharge, only that when he woke again, their absence cut as keenly as one of his knives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end of chapter eight. It's early in the morning and I have work, so once again, I'm going to keep this short. A short note for a short(er) chapter.
> 
> As I mentioned in the beginning chapter note, I lifted Megatron's speech direct from Exodus. Full disclosure, I loathe Exodus and only managed to read a little over half of it, since it's a very sloppily written novel with few redeeming qualities. This speech is one of them, since I feel it does capture Aligned continuity's Megatron well.
> 
> Soundwave's origin story does _not_ come from Exodus, as Exodus botches Soundwave's characterization to an irredeemable degree. Seriously. Do not read it. It's awful. I'm permanently salty about Exodus. Instead, I took inspiration from IDW, since it places Soundwave's city-state of origin in Polyhex. Given his intel background, it made sense to assign him to the Data caste (the same caste Orion Pax occupied) since he was implied to be in this caste in the novel. It did not make sense how he ended up in Kaon as a gladiator however (no real reason was ever provided for this), so I decided to generate an explanation that felt logical to me. Hopefully it seems logical to you too.
> 
> As ever, a heartfelt thank you for your continued support. See you soon.


	9. Chapter 9

_Wrong_

_Wrong wrong wrong_

First Aid whimpered and curled in on himself, one hand pressed to his chassis and the other clutching his helm as his processor struggled to make sense of the overwhelming feeling that he was incomplete. He’d experienced the absence before, to lesser degrees. But this? It hurt like a physical wound.

If Soundwave had been there to offer a hardline, he would have accepted it immediately. But Soundwave was gone.

_Pull yourself together_

Stability was more than he was capable of. He hated himself for the weakness, but he ached too badly to be strong. And then he heard the mechanical whirr of wings, and the surge of relief he felt as Laserbeak landed on him was shamefully intense. He welcomed his weight and the warm coil of his small cables around his frame.

The connection was unanticipated, but not undesirable. Interfacing was an immediate balm. As if a switch had been flipped, First Aid’s anxiety melted away. Reassuring chirps trilled through their link, each note imbuing him with a sense of wellness. He was not alone. He was not abandoned.

He felt the hazy brush of Soundwave’s processor through Laserbeak’s connection, distant but present. There, should he need him.

It was meant to be comforting. For a moment, it was. Then First Aid came back to himself, and resentment blazed in his chest. He shouldn’t need him. He shouldn’t need _this_. First Aid focused, felt for the physical sense of himself. It was like wading through viscous oil, but he managed it. His fingers felt remote as they closed around the hardline cable and yanked it free. His connection with Laserbeak and Soundwave cut out abruptly.

Losing them a second time was incredibly harsh. But this time, he persevered through the pain of severance. Separation was his natural state, not union. That feeling of completeness was artificial, and he shouldn’t have allowed himself to use it as a crutch, then or now.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his visor and shuddered as he slowly regained himself. It was a hard lesson, but not one he would forget.

“Please get off,” he murmured to Laserbeak when he finally felt level enough to speak. His voice wavered, but did not otherwise glitch.

Laserbeak retracted his cables and drifted to the side, giving him space. After another moment, First Aid hauled himself upright through sheer force of will. Soundwave was watching, he knew. But at least he couldn’t read his emotions or thoughts at a distance. The vulnerability that caught in his throat and spark chamber didn’t have an audience.

“Unless you need to watch me for some reason, I’d like to be alone.”

He said it to Laserbeak, but his words were for the both of them. Laserbeak’s wings drooped a fraction. First Aid wondered briefly how the abrupt disconnect had felt on their end. Part of him hoped it had been equally jarring, although he doubted they’d suffered nearly as much. After all, they had each other.

After a few kliks of stubborn silence, he heard Laserbeak’s wings hum. The minicon launched himself airborne and flew for the door. As soon as he was gone, First Aid flopped backwards onto the bed again. He didn’t know if Soundwave monitored his own room- he wouldn’t be surprised if he did –but he could pretend he had a moment of privacy.

In the absence of distraction, his mind once again turned to darker places.

The datapads from last night were gone. Soundwave must have cleared them away before he left that morning. But Megatron’s words returned to him, coiling venomous and vivid in his processor. First Aid replayed his speech, dithering over his words and the emotional response they compelled.

A name surfaced as he pondered, one he’d overlooked the first time. Orion Pax. First Aid frowned, searching his memory banks for a match. It was familiar. He knew he’d heard it before, but the name eluded him.

He gave up on chasing it. It would come to him later, or it wouldn’t.

His chronometer informed him that it was late morning, long past when he should have risen. He didn’t feel particularly rested, but the idea of curling back up again didn’t appeal to him either, not when there were things he could do. The medibay still needed plenty of work, and he had a literal archive of research notes to read through.

Which reminded him… Shockwave would be calling him down at some point. Probably fairly soon. Shockwave didn’t seem like the type to waste time. First Aid closed his optics as apprehension simmered in his fuel tank. Soundwave did not believe Shockwave was trustworthy. His intuition about the mech was probably the best of anyone’s. But… First Aid did not get the impression that Shockwave wanted to hurt him. To borrow his favorite word, it wasn’t logical. Strangely, he found he trusted Shockwave more than he trusted Soundwave. Shockwave was forthright about his intentions. Soundwave remained a mystery, withholding that information from him.

Soundwave withheld a lot of information. He’d been overwhelmed the night before. He still felt overwhelmed, but removed from the immediacy of that revelation, he could think more clearly, and the conclusion he came to was that he did not have all the story. There were discrepancies. The Decepticons, the Megatron of that time… they were both very different from who they were now. And his Autobots, his teammates… Optimus Prime’s team… Prime himself…

… Prime. Optimus Prime. Orion Pax. The name clicked into place, and First Aid jolted upright. They’d been friends! Optimus and Megatron! Or… Orion and Megatron, anyways. But Prime led the Autobots, so his faction couldn’t have come from a place of injustice. If they’d once worked together, fighting to bring down the caste system, then he could take pride in the movement he belonged to.

There was more to the war than what he’d either learned from his own faction members or Soundwave. He wished he could talk to Optimus. He was so wise, and so patient. But he didn’t know where Optimus was. No one knew.

He would have to figure this out on his own. But Soundwave called the Nemesis his home. His archives alone likely held the answers he sought, and he’d given him access to his personal network, albeit with restrictions. He’d probably locked any current Decepticon-sensitive data and the ability to send messages externally.

The computer terminal was still as impressive as it had been the first time he’d attempted to use it. When he was prompted to input the security key, he typed in his own name, hoping it would accept it- Soundwave hadn’t specified how to log in. But it worked. The terminal unlocked, lavender glow brightening slightly. He stared at the startup screen for a few nanokliks, trying to orient himself.

A little notification box flashed to life in the center of the screen. First Aid ignored it, continuing to navigate the computer until the notification opened itself and text scrolled across the window of a chat client.

_First Aid ok?_

_> Fine_, First Aid typed back. He closed the window. It popped back up again after a few kliks.

_Apologies for earlier. Worried._

_> Don’t._

_Talk?_

_> No._

_Talk later?_

First Aid closed the window again. This time, it stayed closed.

He tried to put it out of mind as he delved into Soundwave’s unencrypted files, hunting for historical records on pre-war Cybertron, but after several minutes of distracted research, First Aid yielded and contacted Soundwave’s comm frequency. He heard a click when Soundwave connected, but the line remained silent otherwise.

“Did you know what would happen?” First Aid asked after a couple kliks. He watched the screen for Soundwave’s response. Sure enough, the chat client reappeared.

_Interface withdrawal?_

“Yes.”

There was a pause as Soundwave drafted a response. He heard a quiet sigh on the other end of the line before his words appeared on screen.

_Suspected possibility. Left Laserbeak in case._

“We shouldn’t have gone so long.”

_You were hurting._

“Yes, I was. I was vulnerable. You helped, but you also took advantage.”

_Felt good to comfort._

“If you suspected I might have a bad reaction, you shouldn’t have stayed connected like that. In fact, I’m done interfacing. It’s too dangerous for me.”

_Not dangerous. You… difficult to explain. Not an addiction._

“You called it withdrawal yourself.”

_Incorrect wording. Something in your coding strangely receptive to combined systems. Felt it the first time. Did not realize how strong. Unusual, but not dangerous._

“What? Combined systems? That… that can’t be right…” First Aid murmured.

_Coding typical in carriers and minicons. Artificially introduced in combiners. You are atypical._

“Then… I really shouldn’t interface with anyone.”

Another pause followed. First Aid waited. And waited.

“Soundwave…?” he prompted after several kliks.

_I will respect your choice_ , Soundwave finally replied. First Aid vented quietly, tension ebbing in a small puff of heated air.

“Thank you.”

_Do not thank me. Connection is in your nature. Denial: inadvisable._

“Right now, I think abstaining is the best thing for me.”

_If First Aid insists._

“Don’t be passive aggressive. I’m going to disconnect now, ok?”

_Wait._

_Current communication methods: ineffective_

_Teach you alternative?_

“What alternative?”

_Chirolinguistics_

“Oh,” First Aid said, blinking. It wasn’t a language he knew, though he’d always found it intriguing. “Are you fluent?”

_Yes. Interested?_

“I am, although I hear it’s difficult to pick up.”

_You will learn quickly. Sensitive hands. :)_

“Alright then. You can teach me,” First Aid said. He heard a faint, pleased hum from Soundwave’s end.

_Good. Will leave you to research._

His connection to Soundwave cut, and though the mech had never said a word, the silence that followed somehow felt more profound for his absence. Here he was, categorizing types of silence again. He would be an expert by the time he got off this damn ship.

_Focus…_

 

He was only 30 minutes deep into his research when his audials chimed with an incoming call. He recognized the frequency this time and tried to stifle his irritation when he answered.

“Yes, Shockwave?”

“I am ready for you. Report to my lab so that we may begin.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Immediately. Do you require a bridge?”

“No, I’m in- I’m much closer. I’ll be there soon.”

He locked the station reluctantly, but he’d known this interruption was coming. What he didn’t know was how long Shockwave would keep him.

Shockwave wasted no time with social pleasantries. He was herded to a circuit slab almost as soon as he arrived. First Aid’s spark raced as the scientist helped him up.

“Should I lie down?” he asked.

“No. Not yet,” Shockwave replied. He reached for a nearby tray, which held an assortment of color coded tubes and a needle still sealed in sterile packaging. “I would like you to fill these.”

“There are a lot of them,” First Aid remarked.

“I am building a medical record for you, as I do not currently possess that data.”

“I am a doctor, Shockwave. I can give you my baselines…”

“I wish to collect my own, _objective_ data.”                   

First Aid felt a twinge of irritation.

“You really think I’d give you biased numbers? This is _my_ health in question. For my own sake, I’d want you to have the most accurate information possible.”

Shockwave’s antennae flicked backwards. After a brief conversational pause, he nodded.

“Do your own read. I will still perform mine, but I am interested in comparing the results.”

“If you insist.”

First Aid flared the plating in his left arm and probed the exposed mesh for a good line. The sensors in his fingertips quickly located an ideal candidate. First Aid reached for the needle, stripping off its protective packaging and positioning it against his arm. Performing an energon draw on himself was a little awkward, but the needle slid in easily enough. He magnetized it in place, then attached the first vial, letting the vacuum pull the energon from his line. They filled quickly, each glowing with a few millidrams of blue fluid. As soon as he placed the last tube back on its tray, he tugged the needle free and sealed the line with a quick, laser weld.

“Alright. What information do you want?” he asked, looking up at Shockwave expectantly.

“Height, mass, fluid pressure, temperature, sparkbeat.”

“Would you like historical averages for the last three?”

“Yes, if you have that data.”

“I can download a report on that for you later, along with my height and mass and some other numbers you might find useful. Unless you need it now?”

“No…” Shockwave said, sounding thoughtful. His optic dimmed for a nanoklik.

“Did… you still want to take my current vitals?” First Aid prompted. Shockwave’s optic brightened again.

“Yes,” he said, and reached for a medical scanner. “Let’s begin with sparkbeat.”

First Aid shuttered his optics, focusing on his internal readouts as he activated his own, integrated scanner. After ten kliks, he heard Shockwave’s scanner beep. He’d already calculated his own pulse.

“90 beats per minute,” Shockwave said.

“90,” First Aid murmured, corroborating his number.

“Higher than normal for you?”

“Yes…”

“Would you like to retake it?”

“This should be a resting rate.”

“Then should I record this number?”

On his internal readouts, his pulse tipped higher, rising to 92 as he continued to monitor it. First Aid nodded reluctantly.

Shockwave typed the number into a datapad.

“Temperature,” he said, picking up his scanner again.

Given his elevated pulse, First Aid curbed his expectations for the next read. But the number that flashed behind his optics still prompted a soft intake.

“1005 thermal units. You’re operating on the warmer side of average,” Shockwave remarked.

“1028, but yes… actually, I should be closer to 980. If anything, I generally run a bit cool.”

“A 50 degree flux is notable.”

“Characteristic of a stress response, or a low grade rust infection,” First Aid confirmed.

“I do not like that our instruments reported a temperature differential.”

“It’s within an acceptable margin of error, but if you’d like, I can fine tune your scanner.”

“Assuming my scanner is less accurate.”

“I’m a sparked medic. Your instrument was calibrated against scanners like mine.”

His words came out more sarcastic than he’d intended. First Aid hesitated, glancing up at Shockwave. But if the scientist had noticed, he did not seem to care.

“That is logical. I cannot say when my equipment was last calibrated.”

“Assuming Knock Out was the former proprietor, he should have maintained it himself.”

A lengthy pause followed. First Aid vocalized a delicate cough after several kliks.

“Ah… or, maybe not…”

“The only thing Knock Out maintains is his finish,” Shockwave remarked contemptuously. It was, to date, the most emotion he’d heard from the mech. First Aid bit back a quiet laugh.

“Let’s do your third read,” he said.

Despite their moment of levity, the third set of numbers brought him back to the present.

“290/190,” Shockwave said.

First Aid sighed.

“290/190,” he confirmed.

“I know fluid pressure varies greatly between mechs of different heights, but I take it these numbers are also elevated for you?”

“Yes. Both should be ten points lower.”

“You are not well.”

It was a simple statement of fact, but First Aid felt his spark clench. His hands gripped the edges of the circuit slab he sat on as he looked down.

“I don’t say this to provoke an existential crisis,” Shockwave continued, “If you anticipate a chronicity to these vitals, I will record them as your baselines. I need to know if they are reflective of your ongoing situation, or if they were triggered by a recent incident.”

“No, I…. it’s a valid question,” First Aid replied, “It’s just, I’m not sure I can answer that.”

Shockwave’s head tilted a fraction.

“Was there a recent incident?”

First Aid’s fingertips rapped against the bottom of the circuit slab as he considered his answer.

“Yes,” he finally admitted. Shame flooded him immediately.

“Is it possible you’re still exhibiting a temporary stress response to this?”

“It is, but I think these numbers are reflective of more.”

“Then you expect them to persist at these levels?”

“…Yes.”

“I will make note of it,” Shockwave said evenly, then keyed the final numbers into his datapad and passed it to First Aid. He picked up the tray with all its energon vials. “Download your medical history. I’m going to start diagnostics on these.”

First Aid nodded, grateful for the moment of peace as he connected to the datapad.

Shockwave was back by the time he finished the data transfer. First Aid cycled his optics, taking in the new tray of equipment that waited beside his circuit slab. But the most conspicuous item was a gleaming t-cog.

“Now you may lie down,” Shockwave said.

First Aid’s sensory net crackled.

“What is the experiment?”

“I’m going to extract your transformation cog and replace it with one I have grown. This one is from the latest line. I am curious to see how it interacts with a non-Vehicon system.”

“Rejection is still a major concern for this line, isn’t it?”

“70% reject within the first 24 hours, 95% within the first 48.”

“Those aren’t good odds,” First Aid said.

“No. I fully expect the organ not to take. But you offer a unique perspective, with your ability to self-monitor the process from start to finish. Now, would you prefer to do this anesthetized or conscious?”

First Aid took one look at Shockwave’s tools and swallowed. The Decepticon did not have a reputation for being gentle.

“Anesthetized.”

“Very well,” Shockwave said, and took the datapad from him. First Aid swung his legs up onto the circuit slab, reclining gingerly. His fans kicked on as Shockwave hovered over him, fight or flight subroutines jolting through his processor. But he’d agreed to this.

First Aid shuttered his optics and counted down the kliks.

_10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5…_

He heard himself groan as his systems rebooted. Everything felt sluggish and dull. Dimly, he thought he heard his name. First Aid turned towards the sound, blinking bleary optics.

“Your status, First Aid?”

The words sounded fuzzy in his audials, but they registered. It took him a few kliks to generate a reply.

“Conscious,” he murmured. His hand felt disembodied as he moved it. He stared wonderingly at his own fingers for a few moments before he let them drape over his chassis. Deep within his frame, he felt a heavy ache.

“Anesthesia is not my preference,” Shockwave remarked, “It slows things down considerably.”

Lying there, First Aid had to agree. He did not like the way he felt.

“Next time… localized anesthesia,” he said.

“Something I have even less practice with.”

First Aid frowned, wrangling with his numb vocalizer.

“I’ll… teach you.”

“Later.”

First Aid nodded stiffly. Yes. Later, when he wasn’t so disoriented. Although… he could feel his senses returning, his processor whirring a little bit faster. First Aid stared at the ceiling, letting his fragmented thoughts percolate into something more substantial. There was a question he wanted to ask, if he could just get his synapses to align.

He heard Shockwave begin to move around the lab. Ever efficient with his time. No doubt he’d accomplished plenty of work while First Aid had been unconscious. Something about this thought seemed important. First Aid meditated on it for several minutes until, at last, it clicked.

Shockwave hated waste. This recovery period, it was wasteful.

“Why did you offer me anesthesia?”

He did not search for the scientist. His body still felt languid, even if his mind continued to speed up klik by nanoklik.

“I did not have immediate need of you afterward,” Shockwave replied from somewhere across the lab.

“Oh. What’s next, then?”

“Nothing. Monitor your vitals and record any significant changes for as long as you carry the transplant.”

“There isn’t anything you want my help with?” First Aid asked.

“There is always work to be done, but I do not require your presence today if there is something more pressing.”

“I would like to finish setting up my medibay, and there’s some research I was in the middle of.”

Shockwave reappeared in his field of vision.

“What research?”

“Historical research. Nothing that would interest you,” First Aid replied, looking up at him.

“Elaborate.”

This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to field lying down. He didn’t know that it was a conversation he wanted to field at all. First Aid slowly sat up, pulling his legs into a crisscrossed position and leaning over them.

Actually… now that he thought about it, Shockwave cut an unusual figure in the Decepticon movement. A scientific mech through and through, he would have belonged to the High Caste. So what brought him to Megatron’s cause?

“Shockwave… why are you a Decepticon? Soundwave showed me some recordings last night. He explained that Cybertron used to be a caste-bound planet, and that the Decepticons rose up against that system. But you are a scientist. You belonged to the High Caste. So… what reason did you have for supporting Megatron?”

Shockwave’s optic flickered.

“Soundwave has been exposing you to early movement discourse? Curious.”

“I didn’t know. I had no idea what Cybertron was like before the war.”

“What Cybertron was once like is of very little consequence. The issue of caste is as dead as our planet- an excuse for mechs like Soundwave to justify the violence they’ve committed. To answer your question, I joined because the Decepticons were willing to turn a blind eye to research that Crystal City condemned me for. Despite his opposition to my caste, Megatron recognized the use of keeping a ‘pet scientist,’ and I was willing to play the part as long as I had the unfettered freedom to pursue my interests. So long as my needs are met, I will remain a Decepticon. But not out of some misplaced sense of justice or self-righteousness. Only fools and manipulators still appeal to that argument.”

“No wonder he doesn’t trust you,” First Aid said. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Shockwave’s answer, but it was certainly revelatory.

“Soundwave is a zealot. He has never trusted me, or how much Megatron listens to my council.”

“Well, you don’t really seem to be acting on Megatron’s best interests, or anyone’s except yours.”

“Do not misunderstand. It is in my best interest to see Megatron succeed. There is no place for me with the Autobots, and neutrality is a death sentence. I committed myself to this faction long before you were ever sparked. I don’t pretend to be concerned with morals, and my priorities are unambiguously egocentric, but I am here serving Lord Megatron all the same. I gathered glimmerings of fuel for centuries, painstakingly rebuilt a damaged space bridge, and scanned the cosmos for whispers of our war, for some indication of where to find him. I set aside my solitary research to rejoin him. Is that not loyalty? Is that not devotion?”

Shockwave’s voice was level as always, but his words were far from dispassionate. Shockwave was not emotionally expressive, but First Aid was coming to understand that he was not without emotion. Sort of like Soundwave, who while laconic, was not uncommunicative.

 “Thank you for your perspective,” he said.

“Why do you seek it?”

“To understand the past.”

“And do you understand anything better?”

“Not really,” First Aid admitted, “But there are many gaps in what I know.”

“If you can think of specific questions, you may ask me. The answers may not be palatable, but they’ll be honest.”

“Thanks. That means a lot actually.”

He was feeling much steadier now, well enough to walk. Uncurling, First Aid slid off the circuit slab. Unlike the last time he’d been on one of Shockwave’s circuit slabs, he didn’t feel on the verge of collapse. The ache in his chest from the t-cog transplant was much more noticeable now though. First Aid winced and pressed a hand to it. There was a wrongness to the way it throbbed. It took him a moment to place why.

“It isn’t synched with my spark,” he said.

“This line is slow to synchronize. It should improve over the next hour,” Shockwave replied.

“I won’t be able to transform in the meantime.”

“You may not be able to transform at all.”

Right… he’d read that detail in Shockwave’s notes, but he hadn’t applied those ramifications to himself. The idea of being form-locked was strange- something so essential, he took it for granted. Of course, he didn’t transform often, but losing his alt felt like losing a part of himself.

“But do test it as soon as it synchs,” Shockwave continued.

“I will,” First Aid promised.

“You are dismissed, then. Do you need a bridge?”

First Aid considered the offer. Though he wanted to return to his research, there was something more important that required his attention.

“Actually, I need some help. The medibay is still lacking essential equipment. Circuit slabs, life support systems, a cryo chamber if you have one. But I don’t have a way to move any of it by myself.”

“Have the Vehicons assist. It’s what they were built for,” Shockwave replied.

“I don’t have that authority.”

“Then I will exert it for you.”

Shockwave breezed past him, accessing a computer station set into the wall. His single hand danced over the keys with remarkable efficiency. After a few decisive taps, the Decepticon leaned forward to speak.

 “This is Shockwave. Send a unit of grounders down to my laboratory immediately.”

“How many Vehicons make up a unit?” First Aid asked as Shockwave turned again.

“Five, typically. On rare occasions, six.”

“Oh. Is there a reason for the variance?”

“Some sparks lend themselves better to groups of six,” Shockwave replied.

“How are they doing, by the way? After recent… events?”

“The dead are dead. The living function.”

“I see…” First Aid said, a little troubled. It was not a comforting reply.

Shockwave shrugged.

“I still do not understand your concern. You are a medic, yes, but it is not as though you have been untouched by the conflict. What happened at Delphi-”

“I don’t want to talk about that!”

His reaction was instantaneous and so visceral, it took him by surprise. First Aid stood there, spark whirling in his chest, a pale-blue flush brightening his cheeks behind his visor and faceplate. He cycled air through his vents, trying to bring his temperature back down.

Shockwave did not seem ruffled by his outburst. He waited a few kliks for First Aid to calm down, then spoke again.

“The equipment you want is mostly in storage. I will show you where it is so you can direct the Vehicons when they arrive.”

First Aid nodded, still feeling too overwhelmed to speak, and followed Shockwave as he led him out of the lab.

Shockwave wasn’t lying. He had displaced much of the old medibay’s equipment with his own machines and devices. An entire storage room held unused circuit slabs, each draped with a sheet to protect it from the gathering dust. Once again, First Aid was struck by just how poorly the Nemesis was set up to handle patients. It had no shortage of supplies, but using them was not a priority. Shockwave’s lab was outfitted to serve a handful of mechs at best, and only one or two with critical injuries.

He supposed it was reflective of the general Decepticon attitude towards their troops. The majority were regarded as expendable.

_The dead are dead. The living function._

“I will open a ground bridge to your medibay. When you are done, have one of the Vehicons notify me to shut it off,” Shockwave said, interrupting his thoughts. First Aid looked up at him.

“Will they listen to me?”

“They will if they are directed to.”

Shockwave’s opinion on the matter was clear. First Aid decided not to press it. He trailed him back to the lab, where Shockwave immediately returned to his experiments, pipetting reagents and samples of what he assumed to be CNA into delicate vials. After a minute of conspicuous idleness, First Aid pulled a datapad from his subspace and began to read up on Shockwave’s early Combiner experiments.

The Vehicons arrived soon after. There were five of them, and they stood to attention with stiff-postured formality as they greeted Shockwave.

“General Shockwave?” spoke the one at the head of their formation, “You summoned us?”

Shockwave gestured vaguely towards First Aid without bothering to look away from his work.

“You are at his disposal. Follow his commands.”

First Aid hastily stuffed his datapad back into subspace, suddenly conscious of the five visored faces turning to look at him. Clearing his vocalizer, he stepped towards them.

“Hi. I need help moving oversized, heavy medical equipment. Please follow me?”

He was relieved to hear their footsteps start up behind him as he led them. The green glow of a ground bridge already swirled by the storage rooms when he arrived. First Aid turned, surveying his crew.

“The circuit slabs first, I think,” he said.

Without a word, they moved past him. First Aid hovered on the periphery as they paired off to lift the circuit slabs. The fifth located a mobile circuit slab and began to push it towards the ground bridge.

“I can help carry,” First Aid offered, “It’s just that I can’t do it by myself.”

The Vehicon just stared down at him.

“How many of these do you want?” the mech finally asked.

“Oh. Two of the mobile ones.”

The Vehicon nodded and continued pushing. First Aid wrung his hands as he watched the mech disappear into the bridge.

They all remained similarly taciturn. Eventually, he gave up on trying to engage them in conversation and just settled for giving them occasional direction. Although they followed his orders without complaint, it was evident that they wanted to be done with him and with this task as swiftly as possible. They did not care to acknowledge him any more than they had to.

Finally, there was only the cryo chamber left to move. It took all five of the Vehicons to carry it. Though he could not see their faces, First Aid noted the strain in their legs as they lifted the machine. Following his guidance, they transported it to one of the back rooms. A chorus of murmured relief buzzed from their vocalizers as they set it down with a dull thump.

“Will that be all?” one of them asked as they straightened and turned towards him. First Aid clasped his hands together, nodding.

“Yes. Thank you so much! I appreciate your assistance.”

The Vehicons exchanged looks, then began to file out. A tremor jolted through First Aid’s sensory net. Unconsciously, he raised a hand towards them.

“Wait!”

The Vehicons paused. First Aid stared at them, spark in his throat and processor awhirr.

“Look, I know I’m still setting everything up, but if there are any Vehicons who need medical attention, please direct them here.”

They said nothing for a while. First Aid half expected them to leave without responding, ignoring him as they had the whole time. But then one of them spoke, their voice taut with restraint.

“No offense, but you’re an Autobot working with Shockwave. What reason do we have to trust you?”

First Aid deflated, rolling back on his heels. It was a fair point, one he’d even considered.

“Right… well, I understand that it’s a stretch asking you to trust me… but the medibay is here if you ever need or want to drop by. I won’t turn anyone away, no matter how minor the complaint.”

They exchanged looks again, and this time, they turned to leave without comment. First Aid watched them go. At the last moment, he called out to them one more time.

“I’m First Aid, by the way!”

His words were met with the sound of their retreating footsteps. It was only after they’d left that First Aid remembered he was supposed to send them to tell Shockwave to shut off the ground bridge. Raising a hand to his comm device, First Aid called the scientist, trying not to dwell on the sense of failure that pervaded him.

 

He felt his transplanted t-cog finally synch thirty minutes later. It still throbbed a sullen, achy beat in his frame, but at least it beat in time with his spark. Even without testing it, he knew he would not be able to transform, but he tried to anyways. The t-cog made a terrible grating sound, and his plating seized up, refusing to shift. First Aid scanned it, simultaneously curious and concerned. His examination turned up several flashing warnings. The organ’s internal circuitry was underdeveloped. He understood immediately why they took so long to synchronize, and why they rejected so quickly. Without some kind of intervention, this one would definitely reject too. He was already reading elevated levels of nanites in his system. If they could not stabilize and repair this t-cog, they would excise it.

Shockwave did not want him to interfere with it, though. His job was to monitor, nothing more. First Aid quashed his worries and focused on continuing to set up his lab. He pulled all the sheets off the circuit slabs and beat them clean of dust, folding and stacking them neatly. He powered on the life support machinery and cryo chamber, testing that it was all fully functional, that the sensors were properly calibrated, that he could rely upon them in the case of an emergency.

Some of the equipment definitely needed maintenance. He gradually found himself absorbed by the methodical process of identifying their issues, performing repairs, testing and tweaking and improving performance. The ache in his chest faded to background noise- ever present, but easily ignored. Still, when he finally had everything up and running to his standards, he found himself restless.

He could return to Soundwave’s habsuite and access his computer again, but it was a long distance to travel without a functional t-cog. That was something to bring up to Soundwave when he next saw him, actually- getting a system installed in the medibay. At the very least, a comms terminal. No doubt with many built in restrictions…

First Aid sat down in the pile of sheets he’d stacked earlier. For a second time that day, he wished he could speak to Optimus. He wished he could speak to _anyone_ outside of the Nemesis. Jazz was level-headed and open-minded. In lieu of Prime’s wisdom, he could probably offer him some good perspective on the war. And it would be nice, so nice, to sit with him and meditate a while… to just… share his calm, grounded presence.

His optics prickled a bit. First Aid shut them.

He hoped Jazz was alright. He hoped they all were. The twins, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Bulkhead, Arcee… even Sentinel, abrasive as he was.

He hoped that they would understand his actions, if they knew what he was doing. It felt like the right thing to do- to care for those incapable of caring for themselves. Especially if no one else cared for them.

An idea sparked in his processor. First Aid’s head jerked up.

The Vehicons. How did they fit into Decepticon praxis if they were essentially a class of disposable mech? How could Soundwave claim to believe in a movement that rejected caste while still benefiting from their service? It was hypocrisy in its purest form. Shockwave was right. Whatever the Decepticons had once been, the current movement no longer followed its roots. Except the issue of caste wasn’t dead. It was still very much alive.

First Aid stood, feeling agitated. His spark fluttered strangely in his chassis. He needed to get back down to Soundwave’s habsuite. He needed to talk to Soundwave, make his point-

Exiting the medibay, he nearly collided with someone. First Aid tripped trying to stop himself in time, but it hardly mattered. They leapt aside in a graceful blur, leaving him to stumble and catch himself against the wall. First Aid looked up, apology mid-formed when he realized who it was. The words died on his lips.

“Clumsy,” Airachnid tutted, “You should be careful who you barrel into on this ship.”

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be around the corner.”

“True. Not much of interest around here. Except, of course, you.”

Airachnid’s sharp, slender legs clicked as she moved past him to peer into the medibay. Her eyes narrowed, and a smile tugged at her lips, revealing fanged dentition. When she turned her head to look back at him, First Aid’s optics slid away from hers.

“You’ve certainly been shaking things up around here,” Airachnid remarked, “It’s been an exciting few days. First, an Autobot assault on the Nemesis. Then Soundwave brings back a relic cache and … you. Which would make sense, if you were sitting in a cell right now, but no. You’re up here constructing a medibay and wandering around the Nemesis freely. I wonder why?”

“I don’t know,” First Aid replied, straightening warily, “Ask Soundwave.”

“Yes, well, Soundwave doesn’t exactly _say_ much, does he?”

“What did you want with me, Airachnid?”

She took a few steps towards him, smile turning predatory. First Aid swallowed, limbs feeling leaden.

“It’s strange. We got the Autobot base coordinates, and yet the only Autobot to be found is standing here in front of me. I don’t suppose you know where the rest scampered off to?”

“They’re alive?”

The words were out of his mouth before he’d consciously processed them. Hope flooded through him, and he had to tamp down the giddy laugh that bubbled in his vocalizer, threatening to spill over.

“Oh yes, for now. Gone by the time we arrived. It seems they really didn’t have much faith in you.”

First Aid laughed anyways. He didn’t care if they thought he was the biggest coward in the universe- they were alive and well! He’d been so stressed… so worried… but finally, he had confirmation that his teammates were fine.

The laughter choked in his throat, edging out as a sob. First Aid pressed a hand over his spark chamber and tried to quell his swelling emotions.

“Thank Primus…” he whispered hoarsely.

Airachnid still watched him, looking impatient now.

“First Aid, is it?” she said, “I’ll be blunt. They escaped too cleanly. There was a plan already in place. So tell me, where did they go?”

First Aid vented a puff of hot air and gathered himself, conscious that Airachnid was not the only one listening in on this conversation.

“I don’t know where they are exactly, but I know that they would have contacted Special Agent Fowler and bridged to an American military base for shelter. They probably destroyed the bridge afterward so you couldn’t glean the coordinates. That was the contingency plan Sentinel enacted. A precise location was never determined in advance in case something like this happened, so I really can’t give you any more detail.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. The best lies were coached in truth, after all. Airachnid’s lips compressed, but she seemed to accept his answer.

“What a shame. Well, I’m sure they’ll turn up again once they’ve finished licking their wounds. Who knows, this place might actually see some use in the future.”

Airachnid rapped her knuckles against the medibay’s door. First Aid stiffened. Noticing his tension, Airachnid chuckled.

“Oh, lighten up. It won’t be any of your Autobot friends- they’ll be dead.”

Anger flared in the pit of his fuel tank.

“Please leave,” First Aid said, voice trembling with restraint.

Airachnid smirked. In a moment, she was on him, pinning him to the wall with a viscous, sticky polymer. First Aid wriggled, but he was trapped. Airachnid’s face loomed inches away from his own. This close, he could make out the strange, compound matrix embedded in her optics.

“You’re still a prisoner, whatever privileges you’ve been granted. Don’t forget that,” she said.

First Aid hissed under his breath, but didn’t vocalize the words poised on his tongue. Even if Soundwave was watching him somewhere, Airachnid moved quickly. He didn’t want to provoke her any more than he already had.

Airachnid stepped away from him, casually examining her slender, clawed fingers.

“Word of advice, First Aid: take care not to stir the proverbial Insecticon hive.”

She gave him a mirthful sidelong glance, baring her fangs. And then she left him, scuttling out of view. First Aid’s mouth dropped open behind his faceplate. She was just… going to leave him like this?

_Frag._

His hands were completely immobilized against his chest and covered by Airachnid’s webbing. There was nothing for him to do but brace his dangling legs against the wall and throw his body forward against the webbing to try and dislodge himself. But after what felt like several minutes of struggle, he’d achieved no progress. First Aid’s fans whirred as he went limp again, exhausted by his efforts.

This wasn’t going to work. He needed help, and it seemed as though it wasn’t going to be forthcoming unless he asked for it.

“Soundwave?”

His vocalizer cracked as he spoke the spymaster’s name. First Aid raised his head, optics searching the dim hallway.

“I know you’re watching, or at least listening. I need your help...”

His own voice echoed back to him faintly. It was such a lonely stretch of hallway, and as the minutes passed with no sign of Soundwave, it felt even lonelier. First Aid hung his head again, staring at the floor.

Maybe he was busy with something important? His duties came first, of course. He was probably pretty low on Soundwave’s list of priorities. After all, he wasn’t in any immediate danger. It was just an uncomfortable situation.

Rationalizing it to himself didn’t make him feel any better.

First Aid kicked his heels against the wall with a dull clang.

“Primus _fragit_!” he swore with feeling, and began to struggle against his restraints again. He hated feeling helpless. He hated always being so reliant on others.

He hated feeling so incidental.

He burned through his small surge of angry energy quickly, still tired from his first attempt to free himself. His fuel tank gurgled, reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to eat since the day before, and even then, it hadn’t been a full cube of energon. His sensory prickled strangely at his extremities, and the damned ache in his chest was back, almost as noticeable as it had been when he’d woken up. First Aid groaned.

Something purple glowed in the corner of his left optic. First Aid turned his head, and could have cried with relief as Soundwave finally appeared. Stopping in front of him, the mech reached for his sticky bindings and began to peel them loose from the wall. Within a few moments, First Aid was back on the ground, freeing his hands of the stuff. His limbs still prickled unpleasantly and felt oddly heavy.

“Thanks…” he murmured as he flexed his wrists and rubbed them.

Soundwave’s hands settled on his shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. First Aid looked up. A question glowed on Soundwave’s visor.

|Ok?|

First Aid didn’t answer. Soundwave knew exactly how he was feeling. Another word replaced the first after a few sparkbeats.

|Upset|

“A bit, yeah.”

|?|

Why? Because-

… First Aid shook his head. He didn’t want to focus on that right now. He wasn’t trapped anymore. Soundwave was here now, and he had questions he still wanted answered.

“Do you have some time? Or do you have to get back to work?” he asked.

|Have time|

“Good, because I’ve had plenty of time today to reflect on what you showed me last night, and I have a few things to say on the matter.”

|Here?|

First Aid blinked. Here? Ah…

“Well… maybe not in this hallway,” he amended. Glancing around, his optics came to rest on the medibay door. He reached for one of Soundwave’s hands, still resting on his shoulders, and tugged him towards it. “We can talk in the medibay.”

Soundwave allowed himself to be led. There wasn’t really anywhere to sit yet. First Aid had him perch on one of the circuit slabs, lowering it so that when he stood across from him, their faces were more or less level. Reaching into his subspace, First Aid pulled out a datapad and handed it to him.

“Ok,” he said, adopting a confrontational tone, “So here’s the thing, right? What you showed me last night? That was awful. Indisputably awful. And if that’s what the Decepticons rose up against, well, I can’t blame you.

But there’s more to it. There’s more to the story. Something went wrong, Soundwave. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but something went wrong with the Decepticon movement, and if you can’t see it… then you’re a fool. Because how can you justify the Vehicons? I’ve seen the way they’re treated. They’re treated like slag! But I’ve also seen that they have sparks. How can you act like they’re drones? It isn’t right.”

First Aid stopped, waiting for Soundwave to start typing. Something, anything. Just, some kind of reaction. Instead, after a few more kliks, a word illuminated Soundwave’s visor.

|Complicated|

“Just how complicated can this be?” First Aid demanded, “We’re talking about people, here! People who, for whatever reason, you’ve decided are somehow worth _less_. Can’t you see? You’ve created a servile caste of soldiers. You’ve instituted caste within your own ranks!”

This time, Soundwave began to type. When he finished, he passed the datapad to First Aid to read.

> A necessary evil. Decepticon movement cannot function without them. Most medics went Autobot. Without healers, Decepticon forces suffered. Lost too many troops. Needed replacements. Vehicon solution not ideal, but our only choice.

First Aid handed the datapad back, spark heavy.

“It’s still not right,” he said, “You have to know that. Everyone thinks of them as expendable. You say they’re necessary, but no one treats them like they have value. No one treats them with respect.”

Soundwave began typing again. He turned it towards First Aid after a few kliks.

> I do not disagree. Regret this fact. Regret their necessity. When the war is over, no more will be made. We will not keep a permanent servile caste.

First Aid sucked air through his vents, cycling it slowly. He was glad that Soundwave did not care for how the Vehicons were treated, but it wasn’t enough. Future promises were not enough.

“But what about the Vehicons that will still exist when the fighting is done? People are still going to treat them poorly. And what about the Vehicons that exist right now? Someone needs to acknowledge that they have worth _now_ , not overlook those oppressive attitudes for the sake of convenience. The Decepticon movement gave voice to the voiceless. So who will speak up for these mechs?”

Soundwave did not respond for several kliks. First Aid watched him, no longer feeling confrontational so much as just tired and sad. His chest hurt, and his fingers twinged sympathetically. Standing was starting to get a little uncomfortable. He was tempted to shuffle over to a circuit slab and sit down himself…

At last, Soundwave dipped his head and typed a single sentence. But when First Aid read it, he immediately noted its completeness of thought.

> You would have been a Decepticon if you’d been there at the start.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He felt confused, then irritated- annoyed by this deflection. But Soundwave shook his head and reached across, tapping just above his spark chamber.

|This|

Energon flowed to his cheeks as First Aid suddenly understood. It hadn’t been deflection, it had been admiration. A compliment. For Soundwave, a very significant one.

|You are right|

|Lost sight|

|Of roots|

|Thank you|

Soundwave’s hand flattened against his chassis, and First Aid felt his spark wobble beneath it. Then it wobbled again, off beat. And… again? First Aid’s optics widened at the irregular flutter, suddenly realizing what was happening. The pricking of his sensory net, the heaviness of his limbs… how long had he been experiencing these symptoms? And the pain… of course, the ever-present pain… He’d been so distracted, but…

First Aid gasped quietly as his t-cog flared. The pain wasn’t dull anymore.

“Soundwave, I need to go.”

Soundwave stood, visor blinking a question mark.

|Pain?|

First Aid raised a hand to his comm device, wincing.

“Don’t worry. I just need to contact Shockwave-”

It wasn’t the right thing to say.

It was never the right thing to say.

|What did he do?|

“It’s under control,” First Aid said, then called. He placed a comforting hand over the one on his chassis while he waited, trying to communicate a sense of calm to the empathic spymaster, although he mentally urged Shockwave to pick up quickly.

“First Aid?” he heard Shockwave say as the line connected.

“Bridge me,” First Aid ordered, “I’m in the medibay. It’s rejecting.”

Shockwave disconnected. Moments later, a bridge spiraled into view. First Aid pulled Soundwave’s hand away, though he gave it a squeeze before he let it go.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he promised, knowing Soundwave disapproved of this involvement, and knowing that he would worry until he returned. A promise was something to hold onto.

Soundwave’s vocalizer crackled softly, then he heard his voice played back to him, sounding a little more wistful.

“Later…”

It took him by surprise. First Aid stared up at him, wordless, until another flare of pain interrupted the moment. First Aid clutched his chest and turned away, gait stiff as he walked into the bridge. Now was not the time to linger over sentimental gestures.

His spark still wobbled, though it was harder now to say why for any given murmur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’d like to apologize for the unexpected hiatus. To make a long story short, it’s been a rough fall and winter for me, and I was actually planning on announcing a hiatus in January for self-care reasons, but life conspired against me in December and I ended up taking it early. 
> 
> FYI, if you ever want to check in with me or send me a message, you can get ahold of me at my [tumblr](http://cytokiine.tumblr.com/). It’s a good place to swing by if you like robots or want to read my whiny writing status updates. Courtesy warning for salt though.
> 
> Alright, chapter commentary time. So, fun fact, I based Aid’s average “fluid pressure” off of a giraffe’s average blood pressure. That entire section was a nightmare though. Nothing kills writing momentum like having to stop and come up with alien measurement systems. Why do I do this to myself? Transformer biology makes so little sense, this is so much bullshit /lies down and weeps quietly. Also, the literature disagrees on whether stress raises or lowers body temperature, because it does in certain ways and situations and doesn’t in others. I went with a higher reading, because his metabolic functions are up here.
> 
> Oh. Anesthesia. I left it ambiguous whether it was chemically or electrically induced, but I may go back and retcon this term later if I can think of a better one, since my preference actually is electrically based painkillers. 
> 
> What else? Nothing important probably. Haha. I only address the most important things in these notes. My girl Airachnid finally showed up. Wonder what she’s up to? :) Only good things.
> 
> I’m sure you know it, but this chapter begins right on the heels of the last one, so it’s best to read that section at the end of Ch 8 for maximum impact. You should go back and do that if you haven’t already. Look at that smooth, smooth transition. Things will be different from here on out.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I’ll see you again in Ch 10. Until then, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this overdue chapter. Sorry again for the delay, and also for this monster of an end note! Hoo boy, it sure got long...


	10. Chapter 10

Shockwave didn’t bother with circuit blockers a second time, although First Aid would have appreciated them for this operation. Still, it was clear Shockwave knew his way around a chest cavity. It gave him more confidence in future surgical experiments.

He stayed awhile in the lab post-operation, recovering. As soon as his pain had receded to a bearable level, Shockwave began quizzing him.

“Rejection was rapid,” he remarked.

First Aid rubbed a hand over his chassis and idly wished he still had his EMP mod.

“You cultured the original cells from a Vehicon t-cog, didn’t you? It makes sense that they’d integrate better with a Vehicon system.”

“That does seem logical.”

“Stress may have been another factor. My systems are already on alert, so to speak.”

Shockwave handed him a datapad.

“Upload the data.”

First Aid obeyed.

“Could I make an observation right now though?” he asked when he passed the datapad back.

“Speak.”

“The internal circuitry was underdeveloped. I included the scans in my report, but I wanted to draw your attention to it sooner. Without fully developed wiring, you’re going to see this line continue to reject. At best, they simply won’t be functional.”

“It’s an issue I’m aware of. However, it has been difficult to resolve. I am open to ideas if you have them.”

First Aid shuttered his optics and shook his head.

“I’ll think about it. Let me get back to you on that.”

“Then I will begin analyzing _this_ ,” Shockwave said, raising the datapad.

As soon as he felt stable, he drove back to Soundwave’s habsuite. It probably wasn’t the best idea so soon after his surgery, but it felt good to transform again and reassure himself that he still could. Soundwave was still up when he arrived. He guided him from the doorway to his berth and pressed a fresh cube of energon into his hands. The pampering was a welcome change from Shockwave’s cold efficiency. After such a long, exhausting day, it was wonderful to fill his fuel tank and stretch out on a soft berth. He could have passed out right there, but Soundwave leaned over him expectantly. First Aid blinked bleary optics, then remembered his promise.

“Right,” he mumbled, gathering his thoughts, “So, the experiment was testing one of the t-cogs Shockwave has grown. He wanted to see how it would respond to my system, since he’s only tested them with Vehicons. But they have a tendency to reject fairly quickly, so that’s what happened. It was expected. The danger was pretty minimal. Unpleasant, but under control. I’m perfectly fine now.”

|Rest|

First Aid’s lips curved in a faint, hidden smile.

“Yeah. Recharging sounds wonderful.”

|First:|

|Teach chiro?|

“Uh, I’m not sure how much I’d retain to be honest.”

|Few words|

|Quick|

“Alright,” First Aid agreed.

Sitting up was hard. He wanted to curl up under blankets and let his processor drift, but he gave Soundwave his attention, holding out his hands. Soundwave threaded his narrow fingers through First Aid’s. Then he began to move them.

First Aid was instantly mesmerized. The sensors in his fingers picked up a range of nuanced taps, caresses, and changes in pressure as Soundwave’s fingers manipulated them. It was overwhelming. He wasn’t used to having another mech touch his hands for such an extended length of time. When Soundwave finally stopped, First Aid deadened the sensors for a moment, distancing himself.

“What did you talk about?” he asked.

|Different things|

|Not important|

|Example|

“It was… very different. Interesting.”

|Good?|

“Yeah. I think so. Just, a bit personal.”

Soundwave nodded.

|Involved: yes|

|Very private|

|Lying: difficult|

|No words wasted|

“Hardly anyone knows it though.”

Soundwave nodded again, curling his fingers around First Aid’s.

|Shame|

“Well, teach me then. Before I pass out.”

A smile brightened Soundwave’s visor.

|Word?|

“Teach me your favorite,” First Aid said. He dialed the sensitivity in his fingers back up.

|Spark| his visor read.

And then First Aid felt him trace a quick circle in his palm with his thumb. The pressure was gentle, but not insubstantial.

“I like that one,” he said, feeling charmed.

|Another?|

“Yes, please.”

Soundwave gave his fingers a light squeeze.

|Ok|

 

It was hard to stop once he started learning, but his exhaustion soon caught up with him. Soundwave ended the lesson himself when First Aid began to droop, his fingers clumsy and tingling. First Aid didn't argue as Soundwave pulled him down onto the berth and tugged the blankets over them. The cozy warmth of Soundwave's frame lulled him to sleep in minutes.

He woke to his audials chiming insistently. It took him several more sparkbeats to realize it was the sound of an incoming call. Groaning, he answered it.

“Hello?”

“Good morning.” Shockwave’s voice greeted him. “Report to my lab in ten minutes.”

“I… really? I just woke up.”

“You have had adequate time to recharge.”

“I had two surgeries done and an organ reject yesterday,” First Aid replied dryly. Shockwave paused to consider his words.

“You may take an additional five minutes then.”

He hung up before First Aid could get another word in. Not that there was any arguing with Shockwave. Sitting up, he checked his chronometer. Early, but not terribly so; Soundwave had already departed.

Adequate time, Shockwave had said. First Aid grumbled.

He stood in front of Shockwave’s lab sixteen minutes later.

Inside, a familiar mech waited for him. Although perhaps waited wasn’t the right verb- the Vehicon still lay braindead on his circuit slab. His spark was still exposed, a pale and sickly thing that pulsed weakly.

“You couldn’t have covered his spark chamber?” he asked Shockwave, averting his eyes. Seeing the Vehicon’s spark so vulnerable … it felt wrong. Although, it was marginally brighter than it had been.

Shockwave tilted his head.

“Why? It’s an easy way to assess his health at a glance.”

First Aid shook his head, turning away from the Vehicon’s circuit slab.

“What do you have for me today?”

“His processor has finished regenerating. I would like to proceed with the next step in this demonstration.”

“Oh. That was quick.”

“Scan it if you wish. It should be whole.”

And it was. First Aid looked over his readings, amazed. He’d never seen such a swift regeneration. It was a nice bit of fortune, coming off of yesterday’s experiment. First Aid’s optics brightened with pleasure.

“It’s ready for transplanting,” he confirmed.

“Then do your job, doctor.”

 

Reconnecting a processor took a bit more skill than disconnecting one, and this was where it paid to have forged hands and countless medical subroutines to draw upon. It was satisfying to use both again. First Aid’s welds were microscopic- as fine as a strand of carbon nanotubing. By the time he closed up the Vehicon’s patched helm again, the machine his patient was connected to read low but steady brain activity. The Vehicon’s processor was already beginning to re-establish connections.

It was incredible progress. His mood was light as he cleaned his hands with solvent.

“How long will this phase take?” Shockwave asked.

“It depends,” he replied, “It can take days, or it can take decacycles.”

“Are there factors that improve the rate of recovery?”

“There are definitely factors we’ve found helpful. It’s tricky though. Familiar things help- the voice of a friend or a loved one, for example. It’s not always a sure thing, but they do tend to come back better that way.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Conversation in general is beneficial. I think… actually, I would be interested in trying a psychic cortical patch in a few days.”

Shockwave’s antennae perked.

“You think that would work?”

“I think it has the potential to help.”

“Then why wait?”

“I only just re-installed his processor, Shockwave. There’d hardly be a mech in there to talk to right now,” First Aid replied, optic ridges rising behind his visor at Shockwave’s eagerness.

“Ah… yes. That is logical,” Shockwave said after a brief pause. He almost sounded chagrined. First Aid’s lips quirked.

“In the meantime, can you tell me if there are any unit members who survived him?”

“I do not have that information. His unit designation is unknown to me.”

“Oh. Is there any way you could find out?”

“Yes. I will look into it.”

“Thank you,” First Aid said, watching the background noise of his patient’s processor play across the monitor’s display. The real work began now, but he had hope. He was determined to succeed. There had to be at least one other mech alive on this ship who cared if this Vehicon lived or died, and he would find them.

“Have you had time to consider solutions to the t-cog issue since we last spoke?” Shockwave asked. Glancing away from the monitor, First Aid shook his head.

“Not really. I wasn’t in a place to give it much thought last night. Let me think…”

His optic ridge furrowed as he reviewed what he knew of growing biomech and the particularities of transformation cogs. Along with processors, they were one of the trickier bits of biomech to repair due to their connection with the spark.

_Ah… perhaps…?_

“Sparks…” he murmured.

“Sparks?”

“One moment….”

The whole notion of growing biomech from scratch was predicated on the fact that every mech’s cells contained CNA blueprints. Given the right environment, it should be possible to prompt those cells into developing into more complex structures. But their growth environment was still lacking. The biomech was forming, but the connections weren’t.

...Because perhaps they needed something _more_ than CNA to guide their development.

 “Spark energy. I think that’s what you’re missing. Especially with the biomech you’re trying to grow.”

“You speak of Rossum’s trinity again?”

“Yeah. But there’s no way to test that theory, unless you know how to split off part of a spark.”

“I do.”

First Aid’s sensory net panged with surprise.

“Really? You’ve done it? Successfully?”

“Yes. Like cloning, it is a technique I perfected long ago.”

It was news to him. But perhaps it shouldn’t have been. After all, this was the mech who’d joined Megatron because Crystal City had cast him out for his research.

“That… sounds incredibly unethical, and I don’t really want to hear the details,” he said, hesitant now that his suggestion was within the realm of possibility, “But considering how connected sparks and t-cogs are, it seems plausible that a growing t-cog might need exposure to spark energy in order to properly develop. So connecting part of a spark to the bioreactor would be the logical next step.”

“An interesting proposition. Not one I would have expected from you,” Shockwave remarked.

“It’s not ideal,” First Aid admitted, suddenly feeling guilty for bringing it up at all. Shockwave vocalized a curt laugh.

“No. it’s innovative, and innovation presses the boundaries of what we find acceptable.”

Unease curled through him. He’d planted the idea in Shockwave’s processor now. It was too late to take it back. And… the more he thought about it, the more unsettled he felt. He shouldn’t have spoken without considering the consequences first.

“Can you do this without hurting anyone?” he asked.

“If it soothes your conscience, yes. It’s something I’ve had much practice with.”

“Good…”

“Although it took several failed attempts before I perfected the technique.”

First Aid blanched behind his visor.

“Shockwave, please… no details.”

Shockwave shrugged.

“You’ll learn them eventually, unless you’ve decided you don’t want to read through my research after all.”

“Eventually does not have to mean right now.”

“Your resistance is baffling and shortsighted. But very well. I’ll give you a demonstration of the process instead.”

He didn’t know what he expected. Perhaps for Shockwave to call a Vehicon down to his lab, or for the scientist to herd him to a circuit slab. Instead, Shockwave pulled a disembodied spark from cryo to thaw. The sight of it, packed in a vacuum tube, was both inspiring and repellant.

“Why do you have that?” he asked.

“I thought you didn’t want details,” Shockwave replied. First Aid’s fingers twitched. Despite himself, he was horribly curious.

“This is a spark you’ve saved for splitting,” he guessed.

“Correct.”

“You said you’ve done it several times… if you still have one in storage, it’s an ongoing thing, isn’t it?”

“Also correct.”

First Aid closed his optics. Suspicions coiled through his processor, unsettling in their implications. He did not ask any other questions. The answer was not yet something he was prepared to acknowledge.

Shockwave’s method was fascinating though. He inserted the vacuumed spark into a device that bled off energy into another vacuumed chamber, until at last, it coalesced into a second sphere. It spun, slowly pulsing in time with its progenitor. For though it was smaller, it was unmistakably a spark.

“It’s just a sliver,” First Aid murmured, “Will it be alright?”

“It is stable,” Shockwave replied as he removed the main spark from the splitting device and returned it to cryo.

“How aware is it?”

“Details, doctor.”

First Aid looked away. Details. Maddening details. Working with Shockwave meant compromising his ethics, but if he did not pry too deeply, or if he took no joy in the knowledge-

“There is awareness,” Shockwave said, instantly recapturing his full attention. First Aid hung on his words… “-but it is low. Most of it remains with the progenitor spark, since it has not been evenly split. It is analogous to a sensory organ- gathering data, impressions, but unable to truly process on its own.”

First Aid vented softly. It could be worse. He watched as Shockwave picked up the spark sliver. It looked so tiny in the Decepticon’s hand. Barely a glimmer.

“Come. Let’s test your theory. I will have to modify my current equipment to accommodate this. You will assist me.”

And whatever other reservations First Aid still held, he set them aside.

 

It was late afternoon by the time he left Shockwave's lab, his fuel tank gurgling in protest. Reaching into his subspace, First Aid pulled out the map of the Nemesis that Soundwave had given him and consulted it on where to refuel. It indicated a mess hall of sorts up on the main bridge. First Aid swallowed, stowing the datapad again. Interacting with so many Decepticons was far too intimidating. Soundwave always brought him something eventually. He could wait.

The medibay probably needed his attention, but until he got a computer with a data network set up, there was only so much he could do there. That was another thing he needed to discuss with Soundwave, and the only way to properly communicate with him was through a computer; calling him would be a one way conversation. For now, returning to Soundwave’s habsuite seemed like the best course of action.

He took his time walking back. He knew the path by spark, and isolated as is usually was, he felt comfortable reading through more of Shockwave’s research archives. But as he neared Soundwave’s quarters, he found himself with unexpected company. Hearing the steady clank of footsteps ahead, First Aid glanced up at the pair of Vehicons patrolling down the hallway. He moved aside to let them pass, looking back down at his datapad while he waited. Instead, they stopped in front of him.

“First Aid?”

… they knew his name? First Aid raised his optics.

“Yes?” he replied, searching their faces and frames for some familiar feature, but the Vehicons all looked the same to him. If there was some way to distinguish one from another, he didn’t know it. “Have I met you before?”

“No. That was ground unit KN-500. We are ground unit HX-310,” one of them replied.

“Oh,” First Aid said, feeling confused, “I’m sorry, were you looking for me?”

“Yes. The other unit members are checking around your medibay. We have a matter we wish to discuss with you.”

“Did KN-500 refer you? I’m sorry, I don’t have a comm terminal or a computer or anything set up, but I can offer my personal hailing frequency for now. I should really designate a medical line, I just haven’t had any patients yet.”

“We weren’t exactly referred,” the Vehicon said.

“Although we did learn your name from them,” the second one added.

First Aid glanced between them, his confusion growing. They seemed tense.

“Perhaps we should meet up with the rest of your unit in the medibay to discuss the details?”

“Yes,” the first Vehicon replied. The other nodded, raising a hand to their comm device.

“We found him. We’ll meet you in the ‘bay.”

First Aid subspaced his datapad and followed them. Like every other Vehicon he’d encountered, they seemed disinclined to make casual conversation, so he did not press them to talk. Instead, he wondered at the strange air of tension that crackled between them, and about their reason for approaching him. Because unlike every other Vehicon encounter, this one held the promise of dialogue.

Curiosity and concern built as they walked, and by the time they finally arrived, he felt ready to burst. Two other Vehicons waited for them in the medibay. Four total. They were at least one member short.

“Where is your fifth?” he asked.

“That is why we sought you out,” the Vehicon beside him said. “HX-313 is not here. He recently sustained damages that should have taken him offline. But he survived.”

“We sensed his decline. For several days, his connection has been very faint. But today, we felt more activity. The connection is stronger. Something has changed,” another continued.

“When Shockwave claimed him, we assumed that would be the end. We thought him lost. That is the way it usually goes. But you, you are working with Shockwave. You are the only thing that is different here. You must be the reason. So tell us, what has happened to HX-313?”

“And what is Shockwave planning with our sliver?”

It was a lot to process. First Aid’s mind whirred as one after another, they spoke, their words fitting together like a puzzle. And suddenly, he knew. With awful clarity, his earlier suspicions returned, no longer flitting nebulous through his processor but validated by the mechs who stood before him.

“Oh Primus, you’re split sparks!” he exclaimed. Wonder flooded him at this revelation, followed swiftly by horror. He raised his hands, vocalizer glitching as he rushed to apologize. “Oh no, I’m so sorry! That’ didn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine. We assumed you knew,” one of the Vehicons said.

“I- Vehicon biology is not well understood by Autobots…” First Aid murmured, face hot. He swayed a little, staggered by the enormity of what this meant. Twin split sparks were a rare but natural occurrence. Five? Unheard of. How did they see the world? Slivers. They called themselves slivers. He’d used that word himself, unthinking…

There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but they’d asked him questions first. What had they been…? _Ah…_

“You wanted to know about HX-313, right?”

“Yes. What is his condition? What is he being kept online for?”

“Right, yes. His condition is … not good, but he is stable. Shockwave has allowed me to work on him as a demonstration of my medical abilities. I repaired his processor and reconnected it today. If all goes well, I should be able to bring him back. Actually, I’m very glad you found me. He stands a better chance of recovery with help.”

First Aid looked around at them, biolights brightening. What incredible luck! They weren’t just familiar sparks, they were slivers of the _same_ spark. It seemed portentous.

Their reaction wasn’t quite what he expected.

“You restored his processor?” one asked. He sounded guarded.

“Ah, yes.”

“His helm was blown apart,” another remarked.

“Enough of his processor was still intact that I could repair it,” First Aid explained.

“It’s _his_ processor? Not another mech’s?”

“Processor transplants are not ideal. It’s impossible to fully wipe them of ghost data. Mechs always come back altered. That’s why they’re banned.”

“But he won’t? He won’t come back …different?”

The Vehicon’s voice held an edge. First Aid’s spark twinged with sympathy.

“I can’t promise that. Processor damage is very traumatic. But if you help me, I think he has a strong chance of coming back well.”

The Vehicons exchanged looks. First Aid wondered if, somehow, they could communicate telepathically. Or was it just that they were all on the same wavelength, synchronized by their shared spark?

“How can we help?” one of them finally asked.

“Patients like HX-313 respond well to the voices of people they know. It accelerates the formation of connections between the spark and processor, and that neurocircuitry is regenerated more accurately, minimizing aberrations. If you could visit him and talk to him while he recovers, he may return from his coma more quickly- and more himself.”

“He is in Shockwave’s lab,” a Vehicon remarked flatly. “As much as we want him to recover, that’s not a place we’ll go.”

The others nodded. Two of them crossed their arms. Looking at their closed postures, First Aid felt his optimism flag. That option was a dead end, unless…

“What if I have him transferred here?” he hedged.

The Vehicons turned their visored faces towards him.

“Could you do that?” the mech across from him asked.

“If you can promise me you’ll come, I promise I’ll get him here.”

“We would come,” the Vehicon asserted. A murmur of agreement rippled between the others.

“Good. Then it’s a deal.”

Convincing Shockwave to let him assume primary care for HX-313 wouldn’t be too difficult as long as he framed his request correctly. Shockwave was amenable to reason- he just had to make it sound like the most logical course of action.

“Thank you, doctor,” the Vehicon next to him said. First Aid looked up at him.

“You know my name. You don’t have to use a title,” he said.

“Thank you, First Aid.”

First Aid felt his spark expand. His optics brightened.

“What should I call you? All of you, actually. I don’t suppose you have names that aren’t serial numbers?”

“You may call me HX-315,” the Vehicon replied. The others identified themselves similarly, a matching set: HX-311, HX-312, HX-314. First Aid tried to keep them straight, but absent of any visual distinguishing markers, he had to rely on their positions relative to him.

“How do I tell you apart?” he asked, feeling a pang of guilt.

“You may clarify our serial numbers as necessary,” HX-312 replied. “We will not take offense.”

“But you can tell each other apart, can’t you?”

“Of course.”

“So, I should try to learn,” First Aid insisted.

“Non-Vehicons struggle with this. We don’t expect you to know one unit from another, let alone one sliver from another,” HX-314 said.

“Is there anyone who can?”

The Vehicons hesitated.

“Breakdown tries,” HX-314 finally offered.

“There was one other who used to, apparently. It’s been a long time though,” HX-315 added.

“Who?”

“Soundwave. He might still be able to, it’s just, well…”

“He doesn’t talk anymore. So it doesn’t really matter,” HX-312 finished.

Soundwave. Somehow, First Aid wasn’t surprised. If anyone could manage it, it would be him. Being an empath had its advantages.

“Well, I’ll just keep asking until I get them right,” First Aid said.

“You really don’t have to,” HX-315 replied, “But thank you.”

“If there’s anything else we can do to help you help HX-313, let us know,” HX-311 added, speaking up for the first time since he’d given his name. He stood with his arms crossed, although he unfolded them now. First Aid looked over at him curiously.

“I didn’t walk up with you, right?”

HX-311 shook his head.

“Then you wouldn’t have heard. If you could help me set up a communication terminal here in the medibay, I’d be able to spend more time in this space monitoring patients and responding to medical requests.”

“We can do that,” HX-312 said, “Set up the station, anyways. Soundwave will have to connect you to the Nemesis’ network.”

“That would be great. I was planning to ask Soundwave about it myself anyways.”

“What’s your relationship with him?”

That was HX-311 again. First Aid paused. The other HX-310 Vehicons shifted, some glancing away from him. Their discomfort was palpable, a low hum of electromagnetic energy swelling through the room.

“I don’t really know that myself,” he finally replied after several kliks of tense silence.

“Units talk. We wonder,” HX-311 said. “You work with Shockwave. You recharge with Soundwave. Why, if you are an Autobot prisoner?”

“You’re not the only ones wondering,” First Aid answered, shaking his head.

“Hmm,” HX-311 said before folding his arms again and lapsing back into silence. HX-315 breached it.

“We’ve been given conflicting information,” the Vehicon explained, “We’re just trying to figure out our place in all this, since yours is… ambiguous.”

Ambiguous. That was a good word to describe his current position. It was also a diplomatic choice of words. HX-315 was doing his part to dissipate the tension that still lingered. It would be remiss not to meet him halfway.

“The only thing I’m certain of is that I’m stuck on this ship for the foreseeable future. I’m just trying to do the most good I can while I can,” he replied seriously.

“Understood,” HX-315 said.

First Aid vocalized a dry laugh.

“Well, that makes one of us at least.”

They left him with the promise that they would be in contact with him regarding their comatose sliver and the construction of a terminal in the room he’d designated as office space. So, he would have an office after all. It felt too permanent, too entrenched. But what he’d told unit HX-310 was true; he was here for the foreseeable future. Until the Autobots recovered enough ground to make an appearance again, getting off the Nemesis wasn’t an option.

He would do the most good he could in the time that he was here, however long that turned out to be.

 

Soundwave found him soon after, his timing suspiciously perfect. Just as First Aid reached for the medibay door to leave, it slid open to reveal the spymaster. First Aid took one look at the energon cube in his hand and stepped aside to admit him.

“I don’t suppose you have more of that? I’m kind of low after yesterday.”

|Can get more|

Soundwave handed him the cube, and First Aid tipped it back, savoring its warmth as it hit his empty fuel tank. He sighed luxuriously as he licked the last of it from his lips and closed his faceplate.

“So,” he began. “How much of that conversation did you hear?”

|All|

“Figures. You’ll connect me if they get something set up in the medibay?”

Soundwave nodded.

“Good. That means I can be here when I’m not with Shockwave. There’s not much point in having a medibay if no one’s staffing it.”

Soundwave tilted his head.

|Habsuite?|

First Aid made a dismissive gesture.

“I still have to recharge, don’t I? But I really need to start being more present here, especially if I can get HX-313 away from Shockwave.”

|Busy|

“A bit, yeah… But it’s nice. They thanked me, Soundwave; Unit HX-310. They offered to help…”

First Aid cleared the static from his vocalizer as a little surge of emotion shorted out his words. Soundwave reached across, brushing his helm.

“Can you still tell them apart?” he asked when he regained his composure. Soundwave nodded, letting his hand fall. “Is it because of the empath thing?”

Soundwave shook his head.

|Empathy helps|

|Not needed|

|Watch. Listen|

|Learn|

“I guess you do a lot of that too,” First Aid remarked.

|Slivers harder|

|Same spark|

|Differences small|

|But do exist|

|Observation: key|

“So how does that work? Are they different mechs? How much can they sense from each other? Just how much do they share?”

|Ask them|

First Aid bit his tongue. Of course. The Vehicons understood their own connection best. But it had seemed impolite to ask about it at the time.

He supposed asking Soundwave like this was no better.

“This is why they’re treated like drones, isn’t it?” he asked instead. “It’s easy to depersonalize someone who is just a splinter- a sliver of a whole.”

First Aid looked to Soundwave, who nodded confirmation. His frame vibrated. First Aid began to pace.

“I’ve done something wrong, Soundwave. I wasn’t sure before, but now I am.”

Soundwave reached for him, turning him to face him. First Aid’s system hummed under his hands as Soundwave waited, silent but expectant for him to speak.

“Earlier. With Shockwave. I gave him an idea I shouldn’t have, for how to improve grown biomech. I… he showed me how to split a spark. I didn’t know. The sparks he keeps in cryo, they’re meant for Vehicons And they’re already treated so-”

Soundwave pressed a finger to his faceplate and shook his head. First Aid stilled, his clipped attempts at communication tapering off immediately. He felt thoroughly ashamed. Even if the spark sliver Shockwave had split off was barely sentient, knowing that spark’s intended fate made it cruel. It wouldn’t ever have personhood- the totality of it’s worth was reduced to its function.

Soundwave shook his head again, reaching for First Aid’s hands. He traced a familiar word in his palm, followed by another he did not know. First Aid looked up for clarity.

|Kind|

_Kind spark_

He looked back down at his hands, still held in Soundwave’s, until a flicker of changing light on Soundwave’s visor caught his attention.

|Meant well|

|Forgive self|

Forgiveness? No. Forgiveness wasn’t a luxury he would afford himself. But he would try to do better. He had to, working with Shockwave.

Soundwave vocalized a soft chuckle and shifted his fingers again.

.:Chiro?:.

First Aid hesitated. But... he wouldn’t accomplish anything by standing here stewing in regret, and another chiro lesson was appealing.

He replied in chiro with what he hoped was a yes, if his memory served him…

|☺|

The smile caught him off guard, but it was a welcome surprise. Tentatively, he smiled back. And although Soundwave could not see it, he could read the flicker of his mood. He pulled his hands from First Aid’s, beckoning him to follow.

“Are you done with work for the day?”

Soundwave nodded.

First Aid glanced around the medibay. There wasn’t much more he could do here right now, and he’d been leaving when Soundwave had arrived anyways.

“Alright,” he agreed, and let the spymaster spirit him away.

 

Learning chiro was still intense. He had to stop frequently and dial down the stimulus in his hands while he waited for his spark and sensory net to stop prickling. Soundwave never commented on these breaks, although First Aid knew he could read the flux of his emotions. Often, it was Soundwave who pulled back first, silently gauging his limits and disengaging when he judged it was enough. The ebb and flow of the lesson left First Aid drained but restless when they finally stopped for the night. He wanted to continue, prove that he could push on, but his processor was overwhelmed, his circuits buzzing with unprocessed, directionless data.

Soundwave leaned in, pressing his visor to First Aid’s for a moment.

|Recharge| it read when he pulled away.

He thought about arguing, but when Soundwave lay down, First Aid gave in to his system’s needs and followed. Soundwave tucked him against his frame and curled around him. Warm. Protective. His processor gradually quieted, static fading.

He woke when Soundwave did.

The berth was sweet, still calling him back to recharge. He was reluctant to rise, until Soundwave leaned over him, brushing the side of his helm.

|Rest longer|

That roused him. Soundwave was getting up. _Everyone_ was probably getting up. He didn’t want to lounge in berth like an indolent mech. First Aid sat up, shaking his head.

“No, I’m fine.”

After a moment, Soundwave nodded. First Aid scooted to the edge of the berth as Soundwave climbed out of it and went about his morning routine. He hadn’t ever watched him wake up. Soundwave didn’t strike him as a vain mech, but he kept a neat appearance. Watching him polish his visor and the purple tracery of his biolights was… nice, in a way.

First Aid glanced down at his own scratched paint, at the ugly metal patch that still covered the hole left by his old EMP device, and felt a small swell of embarrassment. He needn’t keep his paint as flawless as Knock Out’s, but his neglect was plain to see. Not all his scrapes had been earned on the Nemesis; he’d been neglecting this kind of self-maintenance long before then.

Soundwave finished polishing his frame and gave First Aid’s shoulder a gentle pat.

|Find you paint| he promised.

“Thanks.”

Soundwave nodded. His visor illuminated with a brief smile before he turned and left.

First Aid watched him go, until the habsuite door closed between them. Absentmindedly, he stood and bent over the berth to straighten the blankets. But the feel of the fabric under his fingers gave him pause. After a moment, he straightened again, leaving the berth unmade. It had been a peaceful morning- disarmingly so. This scene… it was too normal, when his circumstances were everything but. Yet… thinking back to Shockwave’s examination and his elevated vitals, was it so bad to find a comfortable routine?

First Aid sat down. It would be better for his health, certainly, but it still felt a bit like a betrayal when he had no idea how his teammates fared. What had become of their lives now that they’d lost their longtime base of operations? What routine did they follow? They were probably all crammed somewhere small, be it Sentinel’s ship or a military facility. A perfect equation for stress.

…But that was outside of his control. The Autobots were resilient. He had to be resilient too. First Aid rubbed the patch over his missing EMP device. It needed replacing.

 

"You are unusually early," Shockwave remarked when he opened the lab door to admit him.

"Just ready to make scientific history!" First Aid replied brightly as he brushed past him into the lab. Shockwave's antennae flicked backwards, and he vocalized a doubtful hum.

"Not that I do not appreciate your enthusiasm, but what is your motive?"

"Must I have a motive?" First Aid asked. Shockwave crossed his arms. After another moment, First Aid shrugged. "Alright. I would ask two favors of you, but hear me out- they're mutually beneficial."

"Get to the point, doctor."

"The Vehicon patient, I ran into his unit yesterday. We spoke. They are willing to help rehabilitate him... on the condition that I have him transferred to the medibay. I would like your permission to assume primary responsibility for him. I believe it will greatly enhance the odds of a full recovery."

"You would supply me with complete records of his medical data?" Shockwave asked.

"Yes, of course," First Aid replied.

"Then you may transfer him. However, I still wish to perform a psychic cortical patch."

"That shouldn't be a problem," he said, relieved.

"And your second request?"

"Ah... that one is more personal." First Aid reached for his arm, tracing the patch there. "Before Soundwave brought me aboard the Nemesis, he removed my EMP device. I would like your help with constructing a new one, since I understand that you make use of an electromagnetic canon yourself."

"Yes. And for that precise reason, I am familiar with how devastating the electromagnetic spectrum can be. Soundwave saw fit to strip you of a weapon. Why should I replace it?"

"It's not a weapon! It can be used as one, yes, but it's a medical aide. Used as intended, it disables localized sections of the sensory net, acting as a circuit blocker. No need to put a patient under, or compromise data by introducing a chemical anesthetic. If I had one, I could show you..."

"An intriguing proposition," Shockwave mused when he finished. His crimson optic burned a little brighter as First Aid waited for his verdict. "I will give it more thought."

It wasn't a solid no, which was better than nothing. Much better. Still, he felt a flutter of disappointment in his chassis as he nodded.

"It is good that you came early though," Shockwave said, "There is much to do."

"Great. What are we working on today?" he asked, trying to muster a chipper attitude again. Shockwave inclined his head a fraction.

"Making scientific history."

 

“If you can spare time in shifts, you should try keeping him company throughout the day,” First Aid told the Vehicons. Unit HX-310 clustered around their comatose sliver in the medibay’s long-term recovery wing.

It had been a long day with Shockwave. A _very_ long day, he thought as he brushed a hand over the new aches in his side. But seeing HX-310 reunited, he felt some of his weariness abate.

“We did not think you would manage to pry him from Shockwave’s lab,” one of them said. It still did not sit well with him that he could not tell them apart.

“Would you please introduce yourselves to me again?” he asked.

They listed their serial numbers. First Aid did his best to commit them to memory. It was HX-311 who’d spoken. He turned back to him now.

“I made you a promise. I intended to keep it.”

“We are grateful to you,” HX-312 said, “And we will negotiate a shift schedule amongst ourselves soon.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m afraid I can’t offer the most comfortable accommodations, but I’ll try finding some chairs,” First Aid replied.

“We can get those,” HX-315 said, “We’ll bring them along with the other supplies you’ve requested.”

“Pardon?”

“The communications terminal for your office,” HX-311 reminded him. “We promised to install one.”

“Oh!” Yes, yes… that was right. “Sorry, I’m a little frazzled today,” he apologized.

“Perhaps you should take a shift off yourself?” HX-314 remarked. First Aid shook his head.

“I only just started.”

“We’ll call you if anything happens, doctor.”

“But I should be _here_ ,” he insisted, “I’m fine, just a little tired.”

“There are fresh welds in your plating,” HX-311 observed.

First Aid tensed, optics flicking over to the Vehicon.

“I…” he began, but he had no excuse to offer. He glanced away, suddenly feeling vulnerable to their scrutiny.

“We’ll set up the office while you rest, doctor,” HX-312 said.

“We would like some time alone with our sliver anyways,” HX-315 added.

And just like that, he was politely evicted from his own medibay. HX-311 and HX-314 escorted him out with promises to contact him when everything was set up. First Aid thanked them faintly, but when the bay doors closed, he just stood and stared at them for a while, feeling out of sorts.

It had been a diplomatic rejection, though perhaps some of their concern had been genuine. First Aid did not begrudge them their desire to be alone with HX-313--after all, they had been separated from their sliver for many days—yet still, he had hoped to share in this moment. But even though he had made it possible, it was clear he was very much an outsider to Vehicon affairs.

_Stop. Think how important this must be to them._

First Aid massaged the sides of his helm and finally turned away. He needed to be patient. This wasn’t his time to occupy or demand. He was a stranger to them- an Autobot. He couldn’t realistically expect to be included.

They were right though. He probably _could_ do with a quick recharge. Trudging back towards Soundwave’s habsuite, he tried to smother his own, lingering disappointment.

 

Soundwave was at his computer terminal when First Aid woke from his nap. Even as he cycled his optics, the screens flickered to a soft lavender, and Soundwave swiveled to greet him. He pointed to a pair of cans as soon as he had First Aid’s attention. Ah, the paint he’d promised earlier. He hadn’t forgotten. First Aid climbed out of berth to inspect them, prying the lids off. The white looked right, but the red was a slightly different shade. On the other hand, this was a Decepticon ship. Soundwave just as easily could have brought him purple. He should probably consider himself fortunate that he’d been able to procure red and white paint at all. In fact, the only other mech aboard with these colors was…

First Aid muffled a snort.

“Soundwave, did you get me some of Knock Out’s paint?”

Soundwave nodded. This time, First Aid couldn’t stifle his laughter.

“Soundwave! He’s gonna be mad. I bet he keeps track of how many cans he owns, he seems the type.”

Soundwave shrugged, and First Aid grinned behind his faceplate. Good. Primus knew the mech was constantly preening. This probably hadn’t even put a dent in his supply.

“Thanks. I’ll fix up my paint later,” he said, tamping the lids back down.

|Not now?|

“Mm, no, I don’t really feel like doing it right now. It takes a while.”

Soundwave pointed to himself.

|Help|

|Faster|

First Aid hesitated. It was an undertaking, but it would go a lot faster with another set of hands, and Soundwave could paint the places he could not easily reach himself. He might as well get it over with.

“Sure.”

Soundwave produced two brushes from subspace, passing him one. First Aid raised an unseen optic ridge. So his offer hadn’t been spontaneous. Conniving mech.

They sat on the floor together, Soundwave at his back. The paint was pleasantly cool on his frame as he brushed thick, glossy layers of it over myriad scrapes and scuffs. With every stroke, he erased a little more evidence of his recent hardships. He looked less and less the battered Autobot prisoner. It was this thought that stopped him when he reached the bare patch where his Autobot badge had been ripped away. Removed, in fact, by the very mech who sat behind him, touching up the paint on his shoulders. Soundwave stopped too. There was a moment of tense silence, then First Aid carefully painted around it, leaving the blemish visible. This, he refused to erase.

Soundwave did not resume painting immediately. First Aid ignored it at first, but the absence of his brush strokes was conspicuous. First Aid dipped his brush into the can of white paint, swirling it slowly. He stared down at his legs, at the drying sheets of paint.

“You know how I feel about being here,” he said after a few kliks.

Soundwave’s EM field sighed around him. Usually he kept it so controlled, First Aid could barely detect it. But it enveloped him now, a warmth that made his sensory net prickle from the sudden wash of new input. He felt Soundwave’s uncertainty, an unstable wobble in his EM field frequency.

First Aid shuttered his optics for a moment.

“Just keep painting,” he murmured when he opened them again.

Soundwave’s EM field retreated. Reaching around First Aid, he wetted his brush with paint. First Aid picked a new patch of plating to focus on. It didn’t feel as pleasant anymore. Soundwave’s strokes were less careful, more automated. His own spark wasn’t really in it either. After a bit, First Aid stopped again. He set his brush down on the paint lid.

What was this accomplishing? He hated feeling like this, hated purposefully distancing himself. For all his protestations that he didn’t belong here and that he did not _want_ to belong… in truth, he longed for that small, guilty comfort. Just a little while ago, he’d been laughing. Genuine laughter. Primus… it was so good to laugh over silly things like a couple cans of filched paint…

“Hey. Soundwave, I want to ask you something.”

He heard the mech shift behind him, a soft scrape of metal as he unfolded and stood. Soundwave circled around him, lifting the paint cans with his cables and setting them aside to clear room. He settled in front of him, lanky limbs folded awkwardly. First Aid realized just how ridiculous he looked sitting cross legged on the floor. It helped a bit, actually.

First Aid raised his hands, holding them out the way he did when Soundwave gave him a chiro lesson. After a moment, Soundwave reached for them, slotting his fingers through First Aid’s.

“This is our new bonding ritual, isn’t it? Instead of interfacing, it’s chiro,” he said after a few kliks.

Soundwave did not respond. But his inaction was just as telling. First Aid sighed.

“This is not about communication, this is about connection. I should have guessed earlier. You were so quick to suggest it after I put an end to interfacing.”

Soundwave inclined his helm.

|End this too?|

The last time he interfaced, it had felt wonderful. Soundwave was right- connection was in his nature. Denying that would only lead to misery. But something in his coding reacted to interfacing in a way that frightened him. Chiro at least did not make his neural net keen with loss the moment he stopped.

Although, the thought of stopping permanently was unpleasant…

First Aid shook his head.

“Keep teaching me.”

Soundwave’s biolights brightened. He nodded.

His paint job was incomplete, but First Aid wasn’t ready to go back to sitting in silence. Right then, he wanted what he’d tried denying himself these past few days.

Soundwave’s fingers were still laced with his. They anchored him.

Agreeing to this wasn’t the same as forgiving Soundwave. Finding a place on the Nemesis wasn’t the same as betraying his teammates. But doing these things? They kept his spark burning, one day at a time.

He tilted his face up towards Soundwave’s.

“How do you say paint?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Once again, it's been a terribly long time since I've updated this story. My sincerest apologies for the long hiatus. I hope the wait was worthwhile! Shout out to [Apt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AptGoodTouch) for beta-ing this chapter. Thank you so much! Chapter 10 was written piecemeal over the span of five months, and therefore was in dreadful need of another eye for edits.
> 
> This chapter finally introduces some characters and themes I've been waiting to reveal for a long time. Vehicons were designed to be red shirts and background filler in TFP. But in a story exploring caste and agency, it would hardly be right not to give them a voice. (Fun fact: serial naming conventions are based on Decepticon-held cities. KN is short for Kaon, HX is short for Helex). The Vehicons being split sparks is another headcanon of mine, intended to fill the plothole of how the Decepticons manage to have so many replaceable troops when sparks are a limited commodity in a post-Well universe, and why they're treated so poorly. Shockwave figured out the maximum number of slivers he could stably split a spark into, that number being five or six depending on the spark. I chose these numbers because they correspond with the average number of mechs who tend to form into a Combiner. It just felt right.
> 
> I will try to get chapter 11 out sooner, since I'm participating in Camp NaNo at the moment to get back into a writing routine. I've definitely missed it a lot, and I'm glad to finally have chapter 10 up. That said, when I do get back to a more regular update schedule, I will be posting once a month instead of twice a month until I feel like I can handle more frequent updates. Updating twice a month was getting to be pretty stressful and really contributed to writing burnout.
> 
> Thank you all for taking the time to read, comment, bookmark, kudos, etc. I appreciate it a ton! (Also eyy, made it to ten chapters and 50k+ words!)


	11. Chapter 11

It was late afternoon when he received a call. First Aid paused what he was doing to accept the incoming transmission.

“You’ve reached First Aid. Who is this?” he asked, ejecting the spent tip of his micropipette. Next to him, Shockwave continued working. Though he said nothing, First Aid could feel his disapproval.

“HX-314. I’m calling to report that the medibay office has been set up, per your request.”

“Already? That’s wonderful!”

“Take your time,” HX-314 said, then disconnected.

“Should I expect further interruptions?” Shockwave asked as First Aid lowered his hand. He shook his head, slotting a fresh tip over his micropipetter and reaching for the next sample.

“Just an update on the medibay. Nothing critical.”

“Good. I want to finish purifying these CNA samples today.”

“You still haven’t told me what they’re for. I would appreciate some transparency you know.”

“Nothing that would offend your moral sensibilities.”

“Right. Because that’s not at all cryptic…” First Aid muttered, giving his sample a flick and moving it to the centrifuge.

“Patience,” Shockwave admonished, “This has been a pet project of mine for aeons. I’ll enlighten you in due time.”

“If it’s ongoing, it will be in your research archives.”

“Yes. Archives spanning millennia. Where to begin?”

First Aid rolled his optics and loaded up his other samples. The centrifuge whirred loudly as it spun them down.

“Fine then. Keep me in the dark.”

“If you try to sneak a sample, I will punish you myself.”

First Aid huffed, more curious than ever. But just as Soundwave monitored the Nemesis closely, Shockwave was keenly aware of all that transpired in his lab. Shockwave would “enlighten” him eventually. In the meantime, he could make some educated guesses of his own.

It was tedious, repetitive work, but at last they finished. Shockwave dismissed him, mind still clearly on whatever experiment he was prepping. Eager as First Aid was to return to his medibay, it was a short trip. His fans hummed as he stepped through the bay doors.

HX-310 waited in the long term recovery wing. There were two of them seated in chairs they’d retrieved from somewhere. As First Aid entered, their helms tilted towards him in acknowledgement.

“Who am I speaking to?” First Aid asked.

“HX-315,” said the first.

“HX-311,” the other replied.

“I’m glad you’re both here,” First Aid said, trying to inject warmth into his tone. His EM field pulsed on a comforting frequency.

They offered no reciprocal swell, only blankness. Well, he hadn’t expected them to welcome him.

“How’s the patient been?” he asked.

“Still. Unresponsive,” HX-311 replied, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “You know. Comatose?”

“That will be true for a while, unfortunately,” First Aid said. HX-311 crossed his arms, looking back towards HX-313. He was silent for a klik before speaking again.

“Can it really be done? This isn’t just some experiment of yours?”

“It’s been done successfully multiple times,” First Aid replied gently.

HX-311 offered no further comment. After a brief pause, First Aid nodded to himself.

“I’m going to review the recorded data.”

Both Vehicons watched as he stepped up to the life support machine and unhooked the attached datapad. A quick scan of the records indicated no aberrant vitals. Everything measured within the expected parameters. Tapping the screen, he brought up a graph of HX-313’s processor activity.

Low…. Disappointingly low, though there was a gradual positive upward trend. First Aid replaced the datapad after signing off on the record check, then turned back to the two Vehicons.

“They say no news is good news, but I wish I could offer you more of an update. There’s been a very modest improvement in processor activity. Keep in mind that it hasn’t been long. I’m optimistic we’ll see better numbers as the decacycle continues,” he said.

“Improvement. That’s better than the alternatives,” HX-315 remarked.

“Yes,” First Aid agreed, “Although I know it doesn’t make the waiting any easier.”

There were a couple of other empty chairs floating around. First Aid pulled one up and sat down across from the HX-310 Vehicons.

“Will you be here much longer?”

HX-315 nodded.

“Our shift lasts another two hours, after which HX-314 and HX-312 will return to take over.”

“Well then, would you mind answering a few questions?”

“Depends on the questions,” HX-311 replied. HX-315 glanced at him.

“If they are appropriate for us to answer, we will,” HX-315 said.

“They’re a bit personal.” First Aid laced his fingers together in his lap. “But they might help me to help you better. As an Autobot, I’m not very familiar with Vehicon systems. You may of course decline to answer any questions you don’t feel comfortable responding to. I will respect your boundaries.”

“Ask your questions, doctor,” HX-311 said. First Aid felt the barest brush of an EM field then. His sensors prickled, reading… amusement? He didn’t know what to make of this sudden openness, but perhaps it was a good sign. He hoped so.

“Well then… you mentioned a connection the other day. How does it impact how you relate? Twin sparks are connected, but they are individuals. Is this true for you as well?”

“What do _you_ think?” HX-311 asked.

First Aid paused. The Vehicon still had his arms crossed. Nearby, HX-315 sat very still. Though he kept his EM field carefully neutral, it was plain he had his own opinion about HX-311’s blunt retort.

In retrospect, it was a stupid question with an obvious answer.

“You’re individuals. Your thoughts and actions are your own, aren’t they?”

“We can’t communicate telepathically. We don’t share thoughts like an Insecticon hivemind. When we’re hurt, we feel it. When one of us goes offline, we know it. Physical states, including emotional states, are shared, but we react to those shared experiences uniquely. How I feel about talking to you is different from how HX-315 feels. Does that answer your question, doctor?”

“It does,” First Aid replied. HX-311’s tone had not been angry, but the intensity of his response made him hesitant to continue. As he reflected on his answer, HX-315 shifted in his seat. His helm tipped forward, biolights brightening a fraction. HX-311 uncrossed his arms and turned towards his companion.

“Oh, just come out with it already,” he needled.

HX-315 raised his helm. And this time, there was no mistaking the irritation in his voice.

“You’ve been incredibly rude to the doctor.”

His words were clipped, but heated. HX-311 vocalized a soft snort.

“He’s not a commanding officer. I don’t have to sweeten my words.”

“He is treating HX-313!”

“To what end? To prove to Shockwave that he can? To prove to himself that he can? To make himself _useful_ so that even if he ends up on a circuit slab, it won’t be to die? I don’t owe him my trust or my respect offhand. He can slagging earn it.”

“ _He_ is not the _only_ one hearing these words,” HX-315 warned.

First Aid shuttered his optics. So, HX-315’s criticism stemmed from a fear of authority, not respect. His position and his influence with Decepticon high command was still in question.

“I’m aware,” HX-311 replied, “But nothing I’ve said has been out of line. Or has it been, doctor?”

He turned to First Aid suddenly. The question caught him off guard. First Aid’s vocalizer stalled for a moment before he managed to gather himself again.

“No. I appreciate your honesty. But if I may put one of your doubts to rest, I am treating HX-313 because it is my duty as a medic to repair injured mechs.”

“It’s your duty as an Autobot to repair your allies. We’re not allies.”

First Aid clenched his fists, swallowing back a sudden flare of anger. No, not anger. Indignation. It was the same argument Shockwave had posed him, without the emotional charge of a personal confrontation. He’d responded then that they were all Cybertronians. Instinct told him that argument would not hold water here. The Vehicons were mechs who had been built for war. Their very existence was polarized by more than theoretical faction politics. How could he communicate his view in a way that translated?

His mind lit upon an idea.

“You were built to fight for the Decepticons, but why do you fight for them?”

His question was met with a klik of blank silence.

“It’s not as obvious a question as it seems,” First Aid continued, “Yes, you were created to fulfill a specific purpose, but why is it that you are Decepticons? Why do you advance their cause? Why do you choose to fight for them? I don’t believe there is no possibility that we couldn’t be allies.”

“Loyalty coding,” HX-315 replied quietly.

“Loyalty coding?”

“We are Decepticons from the moment we come online. There is no question of which side we support. There is only one side we can support.”

First Aid did not realize how tightly he clenched his hands until his sensory net flared in pain. Startled, he immediately flexed his fingers, looking down at them.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t be,” HX-311 said, “We don’t need or want your pity.”

“Freedom is the right of all sentient beings,” First Aid intoned. He shook his head, spark aching in his chassis. This revelation shouldn’t have surprised him, but it still saddened him. However, showing that sadness would only further alienate the Vehicons. He raised his hands, palms up in a peace offering.

“Thank you for your patience. I’m still learning. Please continue to be honest with me, and don’t worry about reprisals. My plating’s not that thin.”

He looked to HX-315, who did not respond.

“Well, since you value honesty, we’d like to be left alone with our sliver. Unless you have more questions,” HX-311 said. “Your office is ready. I’d be surprised if your terminal hasn’t already been connected.”

First Aid stood. There was no point lingering. He had more questions, but now was not the time to ask them. He’d already overstayed his welcome.

“You know how to get ahold of me,” he said, and left the room.

 

The office looked like a proper office. The Vehicons had worked a small miracle in very little time. The workstation they rigged for him was height adjustable- an unexpected luxury. At a touch, he could raise or lower it. It gave him the option to work sitting or standing throughout the day. The comms terminal itself was sleek, with a broad screen. As he admired it, the monitor flickered on. A box appeared onscreen.

|Greetings, First Aid. Enter your password|

Another box appeared shortly after with an entry field prompting him to enter a code. It felt pointless; privacy was an illusion on the Nemesis. But he did as he was bid to. The screen glowed brighter as the system logged him in. The setup was similar to Soundwave’s, right down to the soft lavender background. First Aid drew up a chair and sat. He stared at the screen for several sparkbeats before reaching into his subspace for one of the datapads loaded with Shockwave’s research archives.

They really did span millennia, but Shockwave’s research ran the gamut from structural engineering to quantum mechanics. He could begin by at least compiling a list of experiments that related solely to the biomechanical. It would go faster if he uploaded the files to his station and put together an algorithm to scan and sort them. His enthusiasm to begin this task, however, was nonexistent.

His station suddenly beeped with the sound of an incoming call. Blinking in surprise, he answered it.

“Nemesis medibay, First Aid speaking.”

There was no reply, but a familiar chat program appeared on screen. First Aid sighed.

“Hello Soundwave. Shouldn’t you be working?”

>Am working

>Observation: slow

>Mostly watching

>Waiting

>Rarely, acting

>Important work, but boring :/

“You’ve been doing this for thousands of years. How do you keep from shorting a circuit?”

>Take breaks

 >Like now. Conversation for pleasure of having it

“What do you think of what happened earlier with the HX-310?”

>HX-311 is bold

“He’s right though. He doesn’t owe me his trust or respect. I haven’t earned it yet.”

>First Aid is treating HX-313

>That should be enough

First Aid said nothing. After a few kliks, another message from Soundwave appeared.

>You disagree

>What does First Aid think?

“I don’t like that they have pre-programmed loyalty coding.”

>Shockwave’s idea

“You went along with it. You’re just as complicit.”

>Yes

>Loyalty coding: necessary

>We must win

“Are you worried they’d defect? There’s no justice in stripping them of free will.”

>We fight greater injustice

>All make sacrifices

“But not all by choice.”

>Before Decepticons, there was no choice

>Only caste

“You should remove the coding,” First Aid said.

>When we win

He didn’t have the energy to argue. For Soundwave, the ends justified the means. Soundwave meant well. It was so frustrating to know that he genuinely meant well. First Aid sympathized with his convictions, even if he was critical of his methods and the tyranny he supported. But it was a conversation he would have again. And again and again.

“So … what do I have access to on this account?”

 

He greeted the new HX-310 shift as he left the medibay. HX-314 and HX-312 identified themselves at his request and bid him goodnight. They made no mention of his discussion with their counterpart slivers, though he had no doubt they’d been in communication.

His chiro lesson with Soundwave that evening was subdued. Sensing his reluctance to engage, Soundwave gave him space. They did their own things for a while, Soundwave laying silently in berth, communicating with Laserbeak over a carrier link while First Aid skimmed through record after record of Shockwave’s biomechanical research. It was as fascinating as it was horrifying, but there was no denying that Shockwave got results. First Aid could not justify the loss of life his experiments incurred, but at least Shockwave was efficient about his cruelty. He used no more resources than necessary.

It wasn’t that nothing stood out to him as he read; plenty stood out to him. But nothing felt quite right. After several hours, First Aid powered off the datapad and turned in. His processor felt muddled and staticky, overwhelmed by all the archival data he’d read through. When Soundwave’s cables coiled around him and pulled him close, First Aid didn’t argue. The familiar warmth and pressure of his frame quickly lulled him to sleep.

 

It was early when the call came. Too early. First Aid woke still curled up with Soundwave, comm line ringing insistently. He extricated a hand to answer it, checking his chronometer as he did. 3:08 am. No good news ever came at 3 am. His body still felt sluggish from recharge, but his processor sharpened quickly with worried anticipation. Soundwave moved to give him room as he sat up.

“What is the situation?”

“Doctor, something’s wrong. The machine is recording strange activity. Please come immediately!”

“I’m on my way,” First Aid replied. He crawled to the edge of the berth. “What shift am I speaking to? How long have you been observing these strange readings?”

“HX-312 and 314 on duty. It has been approximately two minutes. We did not want to waste your time if it was nothing, but we don’t want to take any chances either…”

“No, you did the right thing. If anything, you could have called me sooner. The medibay is technically understaffed. A medic should always be on duty to monitor and respond to situations. I’ve been relying on you to alert me when I’m not present.”

First Aid stood and made for the door, but a green portal opened in front of him. He stopped, looking back over his shoulder at Soundwave, who was sitting up as well now. Soundwave nodded to him.

“Thank you,” First Aid said, and hurried through.

HX-312 and HX-314 hovered around their sliver. Immediately, First Aid knew what was wrong. The erratic wobble of his spark readings were unmistakable. Quickly, he checked that the electrodes attached to HX-313’s spark chamber hadn’t been shifted or damaged in any way. They were intact and properly positioned. _Slag_.

“Spark destabilization. Rare, but not unheard of with processor transplants. We’re still not entirely sure what triggers them. I won’t bore you with the theories.”

He delivered his diagnosis to the expectant Vehicons calmly, although the situation alarmed him deeply. But unless the spark destabilized to the point of failure, intervention was possible. He could still salvage this.

The life support machine had a built in EM field generator. First Aid activated it now. Blue light engulfed HX-313 as First Aid adjusted the frequency, tuning it to the pulse of an average sparkbeat. Though sparks were much more than mere electricity, they responded to electrical stimulus. Sometimes, a steady EM field was enough to regulate an unstable one.

To his relief, the erratic readings normalized after a few kliks. There were audible sighs from the other two Vehicons.

“Did that fix it?” one of them asked. First Aid gestured uncertainty.

“I hope so. I’m going to keep monitoring. If there’s been no change in an hour, he should be in the clear.”

“Wish you’d just say yes…” the other muttered.

First Aid shrugged helplessly and pulled up a chair. If things took a turn for the worse, he might very well be on his feet for a while. The Vehicons did not sit, nor did they make any effort to conceal their worry. He could feel their tension, an electric crackle in the air that made his own spark whirl a little faster. After several minutes of silence, one of them spoke.

“If this doesn’t work, what then?”

First Aid looked up from the medical report he was entering.

“There are nanite-based stabilizers I can try. EM regulation is considered first line treatment since it’s most successful.”

“Anything else?”

First Aid shook his head.

“Nothing that’s been tested. Sparks are tricky. Spark research, trickier. There are many ethical limitations.”

“Tell that to Shockwave,” one of the Vehicons remarked.

“I’m not Shockwave.”

They said nothing. First Aid returned to his report, knowing full well that it was a conversational dead end. He’d just finished typing when the machine beeped urgently. First Aid raised his optics to the display and felt his fuel tank constrict. HX-313 was destabilizing again.

The Vehicons both stood as he did, rigid with fear.

“Relax,” First Aid ordered, striding briskly over to the machine. Once again, he adjusted the frequency.

“But you already tried that!” one of the Vehicons shouted.

“I only made one field adjustment,” First Aid replied, “He responded well to the first one, so I’m trying another. It’s standard protocol.”

The Vehicons remained tense as all of them watched the display. This time, they did not relax when HX-313’s readings returned to normal. The treatment had failed once- their faith was shaken. And beneath his projected calm, First Aid worried.

“I’ll be right back,” he told them. “I’m going to fetch some supplies.”

They murmured understanding.

He was glad in retrospect that he’d spent time setting up his supply room; it was easy to find what he needed. He grabbed a vial of nanites, propex wipes, and syringes. After a moment of hesitation, he added a pack of circuit boosters and jump-start cables. If it came to it, he didn’t want to have any regrets.

HX-313 was still stable when he returned, but it didn’t last. First Aid adjusted the EM field again, then grimly stripped the sterile casing from a syringe and drew a dose of nanites. The injection site was unusual- a careful shot straight into the reservoir chamber of innermost energon. It was the energon that interfaced most closely with the spark, although he wondered if Shockwave had even seen fit to build them with it. Just in case, he administered another dose to one of the lines in HX-313’s arm. As he disposed of the spent needles, he offered a silent prayer.

Forty minutes passed. Forty minutes of dread, uncertainty, and finally burgeoning hope as HX-313’s condition held stable. The Vehicons were sitting again and talked quietly amongst themselves about the recent behavior of some other unit; seekers by the sound of it. VS-160 had caused a bit of a stir, betting other units- seeker and grounder alike –that they would flush out the missing Autobots first. There wasn’t a betting pool yet, but several units wanted to call their bluff. It was pleasant enough gossip to eavesdrop on. First Aid privately placed a bet that his team would not be found until they announced themselves. Then the life support machine started beeping again, and everyone fell silent.

First Aid swallowed as he stood, but his mouth was dry. Adrenaline banished the sleepy torpor that had crept over him again.

“He’s not going to make it, is he?” one of the Vehicons asked. He sounded subdued. Resigned.

“I haven’t said that,” First Aid replied.

“But it’s true, isn’t it doctor?”

He felt something inside him snap.

“Unicron can pry this mech from my stiff, failing hands. It is _not_ yet hopeless!”

 _So much for calm_ , he thought as he turned back to the machine. The nanites he’d injected earlier were still active. Overloading his system with more would hurt rather than help HX-313. That left EM manipulation. That, and one other option.

It was a last ditch thing, something Pharma had never allowed him to try because of the incredible risk involved. But Pharma wasn’t here. Not a single mech aboard this ship could stop him from trying. The realization sent a frisson shivering through his neural net.

“I may need a volunteer,” he said, coming to a decision. “It will be dangerous. There’s a chance you could offline in the process. But it could keep him from offlining if it works.”

“What does it involve?” a Vehicon asked.

“Your sparks are the same. I want to hook one of you up to him if his spark starts failing and use your energy to jump start it. The transfusion could help his spark synchronize with yours, since it’s stronger. It may stabilize him.”

“But you don’t know for sure that it would work?”

First Aid looked up, meeting the Vehicon’s visored gaze. One klik passed, two… Was it a lie if he said it with enough conviction? If he willed it with all his being to be true?

“It’ll work,” First Aid replied. Then, with more iron in his voice, he reaffirmed his promise. “It _will_ work.”

The machine beeped insistently. First Aid turned to it, tweaking the EM field to buy a little more time, a few more precious kliks of stability. He steeled himself to perform the jump start. If neither Vehicon volunteered, he’d use his own spark.

Then one of them spoke.

“I’ll do it.”

First Aid looked at him. He didn’t know his name. He hadn’t thought to ask earlier.

“What is your name?”

“HX-312. What do I do?”

“Open your spark chamber.”

HX-312 obeyed, retracting the heavy metal panel, and First Aid stared for a moment. His spark was small, but it burned beautifully in his chassis. Such a strong, pure blue. He recalled the tiny, sickly orb in HX-313’s chamber, looked away from HX-312 to open his chassis and re-expose that faltering spark. It guttered, throwing off pale crackles of energy as it beat ever more wildly out of control; it wouldn’t be long until it burned itself out completely. Grabbing the jump start cables, First Aid attached two of the clamps to HX-312’s chamber and the other two to HX-313’s. His hand hovered over the EM field generator switch.

“When I tell you, flare your spark. Don’t overdo it- be conservative. You can always increase the energy if it’s not enough, but it’s harder to come back from too big of a burst.”

“Understood.”

“HX-312…”

“Yes?”

First Aid considered his words for a moment.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he finally said.

HX-312 nodded.

HX-313’s spark began to shrink.

“Now,” First Aid ordered, and shut off the field generator.

The room lit up, nova bright. He shuttered his optics and cycled them, but ghost data still obscured his vision. First Aid strained to look at the display. The readings were difficult to make out at first, but what he saw was encouraging.

“Hold him steady,” he said, and chanced a look at HX-313. His spark burned fiercely now, bolstered by HX-312’s energy. A sudden surge of emotion caught him by surprise. First Aid blinked rapidly and swallowed as heat built behind his optics and pressure knotted his throat. It was several kliks before he could speak again, but by then, HX-313 and HX-312’s sparks had synchronized, and the monitor displayed a steady reading.

“That’s enough,” he said. Winced as his vocalizer distorted, then cleared the static from his voice. “It’s done.”

He said nothing as HX-312 disconnected the clamps from his chassis and sat down, trembling. He did not close his spark chamber, and First Aid did not close HX-313’s. Together, they watched in silence as HX-313’s spark dimmed again, though it remained noticeably brighter than before and continued to beat in time with HX-312’s.

HX-314 left the room. First Aid heard the Vehicon speak, but his words were too soft to make out. When he re-entered, he took a seat next to HX-313 and reached for his hand. Raising it gently, he pressed it against his chassis, right above his spark chamber, and lowered his helm.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured, “Stay with us. We’re here.”

It was an incredibly intimate moment. First Aid averted his optics.

“Should I leave?” he asked.

“No,” HX-312 replied. His voice was faint, diminished by exhaustion.

“Are you sure?”

“Stay, doctor,” HX-314 said. He did not raise his helm to look at him, still bent over his comrade.

“There’s nothing more I can do if this doesn’t work,” First Aid said.

“But doctor, you said it yourself. This will work.”

First Aid sat down, limbs leaden. Primus strike him down if he was wrong. His earlier bravado had all drained away. Now, he just felt incredibly small and weary.

Some minutes later, HX-311 and HX-315 walked into the room. They drew up chairs of their own, and soon there was a half circle of mechs sitting around HX-313’s circuit slab. Recharge was out of the question. This vigil was their last. And this time, they waited it out in silence.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then thirty…. Then HX-314 raised his head and sat back.

“It’s been an hour,” he announced.

“What does that mean?” one of the newer HX-310 Vehicons asked.

“It means he’s in the clear.”

 _Probably_ , First Aid thought, but he kept it to himself. With this many complications, it wasn’t a good standard anymore. Instead, he nodded.

Gradually, the energy in the room became less solemn. No one dared leave, but their hope had returned. Quiet conversations started up again. HX-312 and HX-314 filled the other two in about all that had happened, and from there, they moved on to lighter topics. First Aid pulled up his datapad again and continued updating his medical report.

Another hour passed without incident. First Aid’s optics began to unfocus. His processor felt dull and slow. When he caught himself nodding off in his chair, he forced himself to stand and walk around the room.

“Go recharge,” one of the Vehicons said. First Aid shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had sleepless shifts before.”

“You’ve done enough, First Aid. Recharge.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but closed it as soon as it registered that they’d used his name instead of his title. First Aid leaned against the wall, suddenly wobbly. He was too tired not to cry this time, but he tried to be quiet about it as he finally succumbed to exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he opened his faceplate to wipe his cheeks and chin. A Vehicon stood and walked out of the room. Hiccupping, First Aid peeled himself away from the wall.

“I’ll go,” he said, trying to sound much steadier than he felt. He wondered if Soundwave was still awake and watching.

“It’s a long way to walk or drive,” HX-314 remarked.

The Vehicon who’d left returned, tossing him a medical sheet from storage. First Aid caught it, nearly fumbling the catch in his surprise.

“Floor’s not as nice as a berth, but it’s a shorter trip,” he said. First Aid looked down at the sheet. It took him a moment to understand.

“You don’t have to leave. Just get some rest while you can.”

First Aid unfolded the sheet and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Wake me up if there’s trouble,” he said, sinking to the floor. Primus, he was tired enough to sleep just about anywhere. The floor sounded marvelous.

“Oh, we will,” one of them replied. _HX-311_ , he thought as he drifted off. He didn’t know for sure, but it felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been forever, but here's chapter 11 at long last. Just in time for Valentine's day.
> 
> Confession time, I fuckin' love Valentine's day. Especially since Saint Valentine is also the patron saint of beekeepers and plague, which is entirely my aesthetic. Bees? Plague? An excuse to be mushier than usual towards all my friends? Sign me the fuck up. I say this as someone who identifies on the aromantic spectrum, so it's never been a holiday about romantic love for me. Just a day to express my appreciation for everyone in my life who I love.
> 
> That said, I'd like to thank all of you for your patience. I read every comment you leave, and as always, I can't express how much they mean to me. It's been a welcome and motivating surprise to see new comments filter in over the course of this hiatus. I really appreciate them, and you! Engaging with readers is the best part of writing for a fandom.
> 
> Not much to say here about the chapter itself. I ended up splitting it in half, since it would have been very long and rambly. That means there's a good chunk of chapter 12 already written, which is nice. Sorry for the slow pace ;3;
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. I hope you continue to enjoy future chapters!


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